To Sensei, with Love
by Tintinnabula
Summary: AU. Only months left to graduation-- and Sakura is saddled with a new teacher, a man whose sole purpose in life seems to be to drive her crazy with frustration. Damn you, Kakashi-sensei! Beware of Fluff. Kakasaku kakashi x sakura. Rated M
1. Tactics

**To Sensei, with Love****-- a Naruto Fan fiction**

_This is my first (and probably only) AU fic. I'm writing it as an antidote to the angst in Mizuage-- it is meant to be light-hearted fluff, unlike that fic. Even though that story will end happily, I am finding it necessary to write something positive and fairly meaningless to improve my mood. I'm having a hard time continually thinking of angst-- it really drags me down. _

_I know the AU high school fic has been done to death, so this will likely be yet another nail in the coffin. I got the idea to write this after thinking about a good friend of mine who will be graduating very soon from a well-respected European high school, and from watching the Konoha Academy ending for Shippuuden. Hopefully it will match the flavor of that alternate Naruto world-- I've studied my gashapon figures closely! For those of you brave enough to read through a potential mine field of schoolgirl cliches, thanks in advance. Enjoy!_

**To Sensei, with Love**

**Chapter One-- Tactics**

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Second semester, senior year was the appointed time for students to slack off and coast into graduation. This was tradition: teachers knew it, students knew it, even the support staff knew it. Weekends were meant to be spent partying at the beach, or in the woods, or at the Hyuugas' luxurious "cabin" in the mountains just north of Konoha city. And weeknights were to be spent on the phone or computer engaging in idle gossip and meaningless chatter. Although Haruno Sakura did not spend the bulk of her time on these activities, she had made this choice willingly, fully mindful of what she was missing, and fully engaged on the occasions when she did join in the activities of her classmates. She spent more time studying than any of her classmates but she did so in preparation for January's unified college entrance exams, not for pointless teacher-made exams like the one she was enduring right now. It was imperative for her to get into a top-rated university, and it would take all she had to accomplish this. She simply didn't have time to waste on repetitive seat work and pedagogic foolishness. If she did, she'd rather spend it anywhere but here: she'd go skiing, surfing, or participate in any of the spur-of-the-moment schemes her classmates were likely to dream up.

Yet here Sakura sat, third row, fourth seat, seated in kana order no less, writing Hatake-sensei's worthless excuse for a test. She could answer the questions by rote: the twenty-five problems listed in the hastily-stapled test booklet were all ones she'd seen before. He'd probably cut and pasted them out of the same review guides that littered her desk at home. The problems weren't lined up and were a bit crooked in relation to each other. Even the fonts differed from question to question, suggesting Hatake-sensei was too lazy to retype and edit the damn test with a word processor.

The pink-haired student rolled her eyes in disgust. She'd been studying for her entrance exams for the past two and a half years. Not at expensive _juku_ classes, like her wealthy but academically averse friend Ino, but by herself at night in the quiet of her small apartment. It was insulting to be forced to waste time rehashing material she'd mastered before her sophomore year.

Sakura set to work on the exam, lifting her gaze occasionally to glower at the man propped lazily on the edge of the large melamine-topped desk that dominated the front of the room. He didn't seem to notice her or any of the other students in the classroom. His attention was focused instead on the small book he held in one hand. It was too small to be a text or other academic book. It looked like a novel of some sort, although she couldn't see the title because he had covered the book in the fashion that students did to protected their textbooks. Sakura could make out the word Akimichi and the stylized butterfly logo that graced almost every supermarket in town. Cheap bastard. Most people would spring for a real book cover, not make their own out of a brown paper grocery bag. He certainly had access to them. At Konoha Academy the bookstore sold official covers for a couple of sen: demerits were issued to students for carrying books not wearing the school's official seal. But in real life, who covered a book, unless it was valuable or he had something to hide?

Sakura stifled a derisive giggle as she thought of the office ladies who rode the five o'clock streetcar. They covered their books to hide the exuberant paintings of corseted females, breasts heaving with passion at the slightest touch of their tawny-maned, muscle-bound lovers. Maybe Hatake-sensei did as well. Sakura smiled at the thought of her new teacher drooling over romance novels or josei manga.

He certainly was a hard one to read. Sakura typically had a lock on her teachers by the end of the first day of school. Hatake sensei was a replacement however, a substitute called in hurriedly to replace their former math teacher, Maito-sensei, who'd suffered some kind of mental breakdown upon hearing that his favorite boy band had broken up. There had been rumors, too, about an inappropriate relationship with an underclassman who looked frighteningly similar to him, but as their headmistress pointed out, that was idle gossip and had no place in a school with a reputation as renowned as that of Konoha Academy.

Hatake-sensei had been their teacher for three days, and Sakura still had no idea what he was doing at her school. It might have had something to do with the stupid mask he'd worn every day that week. It wasn't allergy season, and the tiled floors, painted walls and excessive cleanliness of the school made it a dust, dander and pollen-free zone. The man wasn't sneezing or sniffling like a person with a head cold either. Sakura shrugged as she shifted her gaze once more to her test booklet. He was probably a hypochondriac. Math teachers tended to be weird ones.

But mask or no mask, a teacher should be easy to figure out. Long ago, Sakura had classified beginning teachers into three neat categories. Some chose the profession because of an idealistic impulse to help mold the future leaders of society, some for the easy power inherent to a relationship among unequals, and still others for the feelings of popularity and respect that were easy to cultivate among the underclassmen. But Hatake-sensei didn't seem to fit any of these archetypes.

He _was_ new to teaching: the way he fumbled over lesson plans made that clear, but he lacked the eager, shiny, take-the-bull-by-the-horns attitude usually seen with green instructors. What's more, he didn't seem to get off on the idea that his classroom was his own personal fiefdom. That kind of teacher typically laid down the law on day one, and immediately made an example of one of the students just to make clear the discrepancy in power between him and his subordinates. And if Hatake-sensei had hoped to become the popular teacher, the one all of the girls crushed on and the boys looked up to, he would have taken off the mask. And brushed his hair, or gotten a haircut for that matter (though it might be made of steel wool from the way it poked up in odd, unruly spikes and covered half his face in jagged triangles), ironed his shirt and trousers, and so forth.

She giggled again. The tie he wore was a narrow, ribbon-like relic from twenty or thirty years prior. And who wore suspenders anymore? With his pleated-front khakis he looked like he'd borrowed his wardrobe from a senior citizen, possibly one he'd found outside an all-night bar on the seedier side of town. Her teacher's grey hair didn't help, either. Sensei didn't walk like a middle aged person, but he could easily be mistaken for one given his grooming and sartorial habits.

Some of her classmates had already assumed this of him. By his third day at the academy, Hatake-sensei had taken on the monikers, "old man Hatake," "jiji," "Captain One-Eye, Pirate of the High Seas," and worse. But he seemed not to notice, which wasn't surprising, given that his attention had been focused since his arrival on the book he was currently reading.

Sakura glanced at her test paper. It had only taken her ten minutes of the allotted fifty-five to finish and, as usual, she was bored. She mentally checked out for a few minutes, allowing her thoughts to wander to pastures more fertile than the arid plains of the classroom environment. Konoha University, also known as Kodai, was her ultimate destination and her reason for working so hard outside of school. The main reason she'd stayed at the academy after her parents' deaths was because this institution was a well-known escalator to the university. Despite its pedestrian name, Kodai was one of the top three universities in the autonomous city-state of Konoha, one attended by children of diplomats, politicians and the movers and shakers of not only this country, but the surrounding ones. She would be set, financially, after four years there-- four easy years, she might add. The university experience was hailed as an extended party at most institutions, a time to meet the contacts that would usher her into the life she'd worked so hard to earn. She had an exam to take in a month's time, but she would do well. She knew the material by heart, and had earned high scores on every practice test she took.

Spending the coming semester at the academy would be pointless, though unavoidable. There was nothing new to learn, and as students were not separated by ability, classes tended to be noisy. A minority of students would have no hope of moving on to Kodai if they weren't legacies. Because their parents had attended, they had an easy in. Nevertheless, they were lost in class. But at least they knew it and made the best of a hopeless, though temporary, situation. They talked during instruction, played video games on their hand-held devices, or incessantly texted each other rude poems and lewd photos. A good chunk of students did pay attention, needing to learn the information in time for the exams, but still more dozed. These ones were taking the juku route, devoting their academic energies to night cram school, and their days to restorative sleep.

Students in Sakura's situation, those who learned quickly and were eager for knowledge, had their initiative nipped in the bud somewhere around the first year of middle school. They learned that the key to a good future was exceptional grades. But curiosity and critical thinking were of little use in attaining high scores and so were shed as quickly as possible.

School was boring, mind-numbingly boring, but Sakura knew she would be just as miserable in any other place. Every academic institution, from the stripped-down vocational schools run by the state, to private gymnasia such as the academy focused on rote memorization and drills, and if one mastered those early on there was little left to do in school. Given her long immersion in this educational system, Sakura was quite adept at the simple subterfuge of seeming to pay attention while letting the mind wander off to contemplate more interesting things than the day's assignment.

Her parents would have been proud of her. Sakura would be the first in her family to go to university, and this was a dream they had long cherished. Her dad was the school custodian, her mom its secretary, and they'd seen first-hand how much a good education-- a Konoha Academy education-- could change a person's life. They had scrimped each month to be able to afford the cost of her tuition and fees, forgoing even the smallest luxuries for themselves. They never dined at the fine establishments frequented by the parents of Sakura's friends, but they made sure Sakura had what she needed. She wasn't the best accessorized student at school, but she had enough. And when they died Sakura found that their life insurance policy had been specifically written to make sure she would be able to afford to finish her education at the school. She had to economize to accomplish this, but the end was in sight. She wouldn't let them down. She'd graduate first in her class: her only real competition was Shikamaru, but he was too lazy to get the grades he was capable of. As Valedictorian of Konoha Academy Sakura would earn a scholarship to college, a free ride that she desperately needed.

And then what? She had no idea. There was time to figure it out, to determine which field offered the most security and greatest opportunity for advancement. Management, probably. Kodai was famous for churning out future CEOs and administrators. It wouldn't be the most glamorous life, but a comfortable lifestyle, one free from the nagging wants of her current existence would more than mitigate any boredom she'd feel.

"Pencils down."

There was a single groan from the back of the classroom and a small shriek of despair from someone else closer by.

Sakura looked up and glanced at the clock in surprise. Time had flown: she'd been out of it for a good half hour.

"Er, Hyuuga, right?" Hatake-sensei looked up from his book to focus his gaze on a dark haired, lavender-eyed student. The one who'd shrieked.

The most timid girl in the class blushed and Sakura wondered, not for the first time, if poor Hinata was about to faint.

"Collect the papers, if you would."

"Ah! Hai, sensei!" The heir to Konoha's largest fortune and titled relative of the royal family scurried to do her job, immediately dropping the messy sheaf of papers another student passed to her.

"And you. Pinkie. See me in my office at 2:30."

Sakura looked up and her glare of indignation was matched, surprisingly, by an equally intense look from her heretofore inscrutable instructor. She ignored the titters and giggles of her classmates and stood before speaking.

"May I ask _what for_, Sensei?"

"No." He packed his slim orange book into a worn attaché, placed the sheaf of test papers under his arm, and without another word left the room just as Shizuka-sensei, their foreign language teacher was entering.

Sakura spent the whole of English class alternately fuming and worrying. The name he'd chosen for her irked her considerably. She'd first heard that nickname at the beginning of third grade, immediately after she entered the academy, and moments before she'd treated the name-caller to several blows from her tight-clenched fist. It still bothered her. "Pinkie" rhymed with "stinky," of course, and the name plus adjective had followed her for the first two years at the academy despite substantiated threats of violence. She wondered if her sensei's use of the name was random or if he'd been looking through her academic record, where doubtless the nickname was noted.

Sakura's anxiety was focused on the reason or reasons why Hatake-sensei had called her to his office. She had no idea as to motivation, but the fact that he had refused to explain why she would be meeting with him perturbed her. As his face was almost fully covered by both his allergy mask and his disordered shock of hair, it was hard to discern his mood; likewise, his voice was tinged with neither anger nor pleasure. Its timbre and cadence seemed as matter of fact as it had every other time he'd addressed the class that week. Only the look emanating from her teacher's single, dark eye was out of the ordinary. If life were a manga, she was sure a bolt of lightning would have issued from his coal-black iris.

An anxious Sakura raised her hand, and quietly convinced Shizuka-sensei to let her visit the infirmary. It didn't take much. The woman was an easy mark when it came to leaving class: telling her one had a particularly bad case of cramps resulted in what was essentially a free ticket to skip class. Sensei nodded in commiseration as Sakura left the room, with a showy grimace of pain on her face and a suitably belabored walk. However, once she was clear of the narrow windows on either side of the classroom door the only mildly dishonest student fairly ran up the stairs to the top floor of the school, where teachers had their offices.

If Hatake-sensei wasn't willing to tell her exactly why she needed to visit his office, Sakura certainly wasn't going to allow him any other tactical advantages. She'd catch him off guard, surprise him by showing up a bit ahead of schedule. She was certain now that he was the type of teacher who entered the profession to wield power over others. Thankfully, Sakura had some experience dealing with this breed of instructor.

Most of the academy's teachers shared their space, language teachers in one room, science and math in another, but department heads merited their own small offices. Hatake-sensei had taken over Maito-sensei's room, Sakura noticed. Somehow he'd leapfrogged over the other teachers who certainly outranked him in seniority and experience. She tapped on the door of the new math department head, and when it swung open on its hinges she glanced inside the small room.

The space was completely barren, apart from heavy oak chair on casters, a matching desk hulking opposite it and a smaller chair standing off to its side. There was no blotter, no calendar, not even a clock in the room, although the paint was faded in patches, giving clues to the decorating decisions of its previous occupant. Sakura had only been in the room once before, but remembered vividly the boy-band poster that Maito-sensei hung over his desk-- Akatsuki was their name, if she remembered correctly-- as well as the bulletin board cluttered with red and black memorabilia. He was completely enamored with band, to the point where he updated his class daily on their comings and goings. Funny that a man like that had made department head. Perhaps no one else had wanted the job.

Sakura sat down and glanced around the room. Sensei was most likely still at lunch. Teachers ate in two shifts, she remembered. Likely he was in the second group. His student slid open a desk drawer intent on some reconnaissance before the man returned. The first drawer was empty apart from an old ink stain, as was the next, but the bottom drawer held several volumes similar in size to the one he'd been carrying with him for the past few days. These were uncovered by brown paper however. She picked up the top book and examined it carefully. A crude drawing and cartoonish letters were emblazoned across its front-- an ersatz rendition of _the Thinker_, and the words, "_Icha, Icha--_"

"Not the best way to make a good impression, I'd say."

Sakura clumsily dropped the book and cringed as it landed face down on the floor, its pages splayed. She looked up guiltily and was met by a heavy-lidded glower of displeasure. Apparently the man took good care of his books. Although only square centimeters of his face were visible, Sakura was certain he was wearing the classic irked librarian look. Likely she was about to be "shushed" to death or warned of the eternal damnation that met those who mistreated books.

"Of course, you've already made your first impression. And that wasn't good, either." With a smooth, easy movement, he leaned over to retrieve the book and immediately tucked it away in its rightful place, slamming the drawer shut for effect.

The springs of the oak chair creaked as Hatake-sensei sat down behind his desk and leaned back lazily.

"Take a look at these." He reached out to hand her the folder of exams he'd carried in with him.

"Aren't these confidential?"

"Normally, yes, but under these circumstances, no."

Sakura looked at her teacher quizzically. The man was certainly cryptic; she had no idea what he meant. She leafed through the tests, noting that they'd already been graded. He must have worked through lunch. Few check marks bloodied the pages: almost all of the students had gotten a ninety percent or higher. Only she had earned a perfect score while surprisingly, Ino had gotten a ninety-nine percent. Nights at juku must be having an effect. Shikamaru had earned a tidy 45%, about usual for the chronic underachiever, Naruto had earned a zero, having only attempted one problem, and Hinata's paper was littered with erasures and multiple cross outs, a sure sign of her ongoing insecurity. She, too had completed only one problem, although she'd drawn lines through several correct answers.

"Notice anything?" Sakura was sure Hatake-sensei was smirking at her under his pleated white mask.

"High marks?"

"Anything else?" She paged through them again. "Huh," she said, finally. "Almost everyone missed problem four."

"And what does that suggest to you?"

"That there was either a problem with the test question, or the class as a whole doesn't know that concept. A psychometrician could probably give you an in-depth item analysis--"

"No," he replied blandly. "Look more closely."

She shrugged in defeat after a few minutes. Whatever her new sensei was trying to point out was beyond her.

"Have you ever played the game 'telephone'?"

"You mean where a message gets garbled over a chain of communication?"

"Nicely stated." He carefully ordered the papers across his desk in a row. "Do you see the pattern now?"

_Her_ paper, Sakura noticed was at the far end of his desk, followed by Ino's, then those of Sasuke and Chouji, Ten Ten and Temari, and the other members of the class, save Shikamaru, Hinata and Naruto. The scores decreased and the errors multiplied as she moved from left to right, but the errors did not change randomly. Instead, they compounded.

"You're saying they cheated."

"I'm saying you helped them."

"What?" Sakura jumped up from her chair.

"Well, you certainly didn't cheat off of Ino."

"How could I? _Why_ would I?" This was completely insulting. Sakura had never once cheated-- on _anything_-- and had never considered supplying the answers to another.

He consulted a seating chart he pulled from his attache.

"Yamanaka Ino. Fourth row, sixth seat. Not too far behind you. That's close enough for someone with good vision. And I noticed you left your paper in plain sight while you daydreamed through most of the class."

He'd been watching her? When?

"You moved it to the very edge of your desk, in fact. In perfect view of your friend, Ino-san."

"Sensei--" Sakura felt an uncharacteristic blush flood her face. He had this all wrong. Ino might have cheated-- she certainly wasn't above such a thing, but if she _had_, it was without Sakura's knowledge or permission.

"Of course, the fact that most of your classmates had their cell phones out and were busily texting each other all period was a bit of a tip off. They might want to consider a social networking site next time and post the answers in a single place. It would save all the reentering of text and phone numbers. And the cascade of errors."

"_I didn't cheat_." Sakura could feel her temper flaring. She breathed slowly in an effort to calm herself. She'd never talked back to a teacher before. It wasn't the kind of thing a person did when she was relying on glowing teacher evaluations.

"So you say." Hatake-sensei rose to his feet, shuffled the papers into a pile, and dropped them into the recycling bin just outside his room.

"Not that it matters. The test I gave you was merely a placement instrument to figure out what you'd learned so far this year and where each of you stand in the class. The fact that most resorted to cheating says a lot about the mathematics aptitude of your classmates, as well as their level of skill at deception." He chuckled. "They really thought I wouldn't see their cells. And the fact that you were eager to help them says a lot about you."

"I didn't--" He had succeeded in making her feel guilty, she realized, although she had done absolutely nothing wrong. She could feel her cheeks flaming with shame and embarrassment.

"Of course, it also tells me that there's no reason for you to take this class. You're well beyond this material. Your comrades will be put out, I'm sure, but it seems a sin to waste a valuable intellect like yours on the mundanities of Calculus One. I've already spoken with the headmistress--"

"You told her that I--" Sakura's throat closed around her words.

Lady Tsunade would _kill_ her. The woman would ream her out first, with a long lecture on the opportunity Sakura had been afforded. She'd follow that with a treatise on how she'd promised Sakura's parents she would take care of their only child, and finish with an assortment of anything else that she could dredge up. And _then_ she'd kill her.

Sakura's new teacher waved his hand as though to mollify her. "I said no such thing. She's agreed to cancel your office practicum so that you can work one on one with me. She recognizes that you've been spinning your wheels intellectually."

"One on one." A tremor of unease ran down Sakura's spine. The coming semester was sure to be hell.

She was sure the man was smiling now, the evil, malicious smile of a power-hungry sadist. His eye crinkled and she heard what might have been a dry chuckle of ill-begotten pleasure.

"Advanced physics, too. I'll be putting together a special course and practicum for you. You'll have to miss lunch with the other seniors." Hatake-sensei reached into his briefcase and pulled out a narrow sheet of paper. "Your new schedule. See you bright and early tomorrow."

Sakura grabbed the schedule from his hand and hastened out of the room, skidding down the hall in her thin-soled uwabaki and nearly falling down the stairs in her hurried effort to put as much space as possible between her and the architect of her immediate doom. She grabbed her outdoor shoes and book bag from the cubby assigned to her, then sank down on the slatted bench that ran the length of the changing area.

The pink-haired high school student, first in her school, if not the nation, unfolded the paper in her hand and immediately bristled with anger.

_Seven a.m.?_ Her first class was at seven in the morning-- only _first_ years were expected to start school at that time. A senior's day wasn't supposed to start until nine at the very earliest, preferably later, allowing the imminent graduates to relax in a cafe and conviviate before starting a strenuous day of...loafing. After years and years at a place like the academy, surely they deserved it.

"_Topics in Mathematics._ 7 a.m. to 10 a.m.," she read again. The look of disbelief remained plastered to her face.

She was supposed to work one-on-one with that sadist, that _ass_, for three hours at a time?

No, it was worse, she saw. Far worse.

"_Advanced Physics_," Sakura read on the next line. "10:05 a.m. To 12:30 p.m."

So much for senior year.


	2. Siege

**To Sensei, with Love-- a Naruto Fan fiction**

_Author's note: Lots of (shudder) _math_ in this chapter. I hope it doesn't put people off, but Sakura's a smart girl and I didn't want to gloss over her struggles. Also, Sakura's opinion about role playing games and ren faires is _not_ mine. Just so we're clear on that!_

Chapter Two-- Siege

Two hours. She'd been waiting outside Hatake-sensei's office for two freaking hours and he had yet to show up. It was 8:30 in the morning, almost time for the seniors to start showing up, and although this particular hallway was currently unoccupied, soon it wouldn't be. Sakura had gotten up extra early to be sure she arrived at school on time. In fact, she'd arrived a half hour early in an effort to get there before Hatake-sensei. She'd had a feeling he would upbraid her if she was so much as a minute late: here was an opportunity to avoid such discipline while rubbing his face in it..

She had some textbooks with her, but nothing worth reading, so after she'd paged through her latest history assignment she leaned against the corridor wall and slid lazily down to the floor. The school was chilly this early in the morning so she clasped her knees to her chest and spread her navy blue, pleated skirt as far as it would extend over her legs, which wasn't much. She and the rest of the girls in her class had creeping hemline syndrome, a long-established disease at Konoha Academy. Over the course of their high school career, female students' skirts grew shorter and shorter, quite subtly of course. Sakura's skirt now grazed mid-thigh and she, like her friends, was subject to a number of pencil cases and books littered across her path by the overeager male classmates who seemed to think that she might forget and lean from the waist instead of curtsying to pick up an object.

Her shirt was made of thin material, although its sailor collar provided a double layer of fabric that provided a bit of warmth. The uniforms were of Jiraiya-sama's design. Sakura was sure of this. The dean of students was rumored to be a bit of a pervert, and his lolicon fantasies were legend among the students. His job responsibilities included cracking down on dress code violations, but he rarely did, at least not where the female students were concerned. Apparently he didn't mind seeing a bit of leg. In a very uncharacteristic move the previous year, Jiraiya had banned the wearing of thigh-high socks. Skin was probably the reason. Female skin. Low buttoned blouses (minus sailor tie, of course) were perfectly acceptable, although a sloppily knotted rep tie or wrinkled khakis brought instant detention for its wearer. Such gender-based laxity of enforcement worked in the girls favor--it was funny how the male teachers either looked away from the girls when speaking or were overly attentive--but this didn't mitigate the indignity of wearing such an outfit. A sailor uniform belonged on a middle schooler, not a high school senior. Jiraiya's sartorial choices were appreciated by the city's males however: while riding the street car home, Konoha academy high school girls typically had to endure the whistles and leers of all males on the conveyance, including the driver.

Where _was_ Hatake-sensei? Sakura leaned forward to look down the hallway, noting that it was still devoid of students. Maybe Sensei had forgotten, or maybe the schedule he'd given her was a scholarly practical joke. She wouldn't mind if it was: she would gladly get back to her normal academic schedule, however boring it may be. Missing out on breakfast and lunch with her friends would be unbearable. She'd worked hard to be accepted by the group. It had been quite difficult. As the custodian's daughter, she'd entered the academy with one strike against her. And because her family was not well off, she had nothing to offer the group in the way of entertainment possibilities: no beach house, mountain home or yacht. Add to that the fact that she was smart and academically driven, and one had a recipe for social failure. But it hadn't worked out that way. Hinata was quite approachable, despite her wealth, and Ino, for whatever reason had taken Sakura under her wing. As Ino was the most popular girl in school, this was a rather big deal. On the blonde's say so Sakura could have been labeled pariah from the get go. That hadn't happened, thankfully.

Hopefully her friends would understand her absence and not hold it against her. She would make sure to meet up with them daily after school, and make herself available in other ways. But high school popularity was a tenuous thing. One could be "it" girl one day and outcast the next. One's fate was calculated by the most subtle of variables.

Sakura's anger at her teacher grew as she idly bumped her head against the wall behind her. This was going to be a wasted semester. Advanced mathematics wouldn't help her on the unified exam. Neither would physics, beyond the rudimentary stuff she'd already learned. The test had a well-defined blueprint and she'd devoted the past two years to studying the material covered in it.

Sakura closed her eyes. She just needed to grit her teeth and get through it. She'd caught a glimpse of Hatake-sensei's sadistic streak the day before. Teachers like that tended to set students up. He would doubtlessly be looking for opportunities to irritate her and would derive great pleasure from any success.

She needed to make sure he had none by playing a role she knew well-- the perfect student. She'd do everything he asked and brown-nose as much as necessary. Hopefully he'd react the way other teachers did. There was a reason why she'd been granted a practicum in the headmistress' office. She had no love for typing or filing, but she'd eagerly sought any release from the boredom of the classroom, and her teachers, wowed by the perfect scores she'd achieved on every test she'd taken since entering the academy, had been happy to send her off. Perhaps they had run out of material to teach her: she had to tone down the questions she asked in class for fear of uncovering their ignorance. She never sought to show them up, of course. That would defeat the purpose of her high school career. She needed the teachers' help to get into Kodai-- their very best evaluations.

Sensei was already a lost cause, as far as that was concerned. She had no plans to even ask him for a letter of support, for fear of what such a letter might state. He'd accused her of cheating, and despite her protestations, it was obvious that he didn't believe her. Sakura sighed as she imagined break room conversations between the loathsome silver-haired lecturer and her other teachers. He could undo years of hard work with only a few words. Her letters of recommendation might suffer as a result.

Well, she'd need to make sure he had nothing negative to say about her. She'd show him what a perfect student she was and how worthy she was to be school valedictorian. If he wanted her to study advanced quantum physics she wouldn't complain. She'd surprise him instead with her deep understanding of the field. Of course this would require some work, as her knowledge of that area was still fairly rudimentary--

"Nice panties." Sakura looked up when she felt a booted foot kick the sole of her shoe.

Black leather pants appeared before her as her gaze shifted upward, and as she continued her survey she saw that the rest of her teacher was also enrobed in the smooth, dark costume of a motorcycle rider. He was still wearing his gloves and his mirrored helmet, and looked more like some thug that stole purses for a living than a math and science teacher. But despite his unusual attire, it was clearly Hatake-sensei standing before her. His tall, lanky build was the tip-off, and his voice confirmed Sakura's suspicion. Besides, no one else would have had the nerve to kick her.

"Really, Sakura. Hasn't anyone every taught you how to sit like a lady?"

"Pervert." She spat the word out instinctively and immediately regretted it. Insulting her teacher was not the best way to curry his favor.

"I'll be just a moment," he said, ignoring her as he unlocked and opened the door to his office and set the bulky crate he carried on the desk.

"You're late, you know." Again, she couldn't resist. There was something about him that just set her off, like a match to a firecracker.

"Yeah. There's a reason Tsunade assigned me late morning classes. I am definitely not a morning person." He shut the door and she heard the faint lick of the lock assembly. He obviously didn't trust her. No, that wasn't it. She giggled silently as she realized that he was shy. He was afraid she might walk in on him as he changed out of the ridiculous bike leathers he'd worn to school and into an equally silly teaching costume.

He emerged shortly wearing the same allergy mask she'd seen the day before, and Sakura smothered a snort as she realized the rest of his outfit had also been previously worn.

"I keep my work clothes here," he said as he noted her expression of disbelief mingled with distaste. "They get wrinkled if I ride in wearing them."

She wondered briefly what type of motorcycle he owned. Probably something hyper-masculine, given the leathers. One wouldn't wear those on a scooter. The thought of him on such a contraption was laughable. Better still, she imagined him on a powder blue moped of the type chosen by middle aged women for their daily errands. With plastic flowers on the front basket. And a little bell.

"I said, let's get moving. What are you smiling about, anyway?"

He didn't hold out a hand to help her up-- that would have been the gentlemanly thing to do, after all-- but proceeded to walk down the hall in his slightly wrinkled khakis and shirt, crate in one arm, and overcoat slung over the other. The classrooms were in the other direction: Sakura wondered where they were going. After descending two flights of stairs, she had her answer.

"Get your coat," Hatake-sensei barked as he walked past the shoe changing area at the front of the school. "It's kind of cold outside."

He didn't wait for a reply, instead striding down the hall and into a side corridor.

Sakura hurried after him, wondering why they were heading outside. Math was done indoors, and physics too. This wasn't biology class: she'd done the squirmy, nasty insect-collecting thing two years prior and had no desire to repeat that experience.

Daylight nearly blinded her as Sensei pushed open the double doors at the end of the darkened hallway.

"A _catapult_?" Sakura gawked at the wood and metal device towering over them.

"Trebuchet, actually. Much more accurate than a simple catapult. As you've distinguished yourself with your math and science scores, I thought it would be useful to see what you really know." Sakura's teacher strolled over to the hulking machine and patted it.

Sakura noticed gashes in the lawn that suggested the huge wooden structure's likely path. Medieval siege devices weren't normally found on soccer fields, and the grounds keeper would have conniptions not only when he noticed it, but also when he saw what it had done to his lawn.

"Why...?"

"Why _not_? Let me show you how it works. He gave her a quick tour of the structure, pointing out its massive counterweight, sling and winch.

"The release lever's here-- the rope is for safety. Got it?"

Sakura nodded.

"Get the watermelons."

Sakura peeked inside the wooden crate he'd carried outside and saw several small melons of varying sizes. Melons in the middle of winter. He must have spent a fortune.

That made no difference to her. What he had in store for her was, no doubt, a stupid pointless lesson.

"We covered trajectories freshman year. That's what this is about, isn't it?"

"You covered kinematics on paper. But if you're as good as you think you are, you should be able to land those projectiles any place on the field."

Sakura wrinkled her brow as she considered the implications of the task. She'd never live this down if her friends found out. They'd accuse her of being a renaissance cosplayer, or worse, a LARPer. The senior student regarded her teacher uneasily.

"I'll make this easy. Just land it in the goal."

That was seventy-five meters from where the battle device stood-- quite a distance to land a heavy projectile accurately. She'd wondered for a second why he'd chosen watermelons, instead of say, soccer balls.

"You actually stopped by the grocery store on the way to school?"

Her teacher shrugged.

"You're so _dedicated_."

"If you must know, I borrowed these from the cafeteria."

"Oh. Borrowed. Right." Those melons were 2 ryo a pop, easy. Even a school as exclusive as Konoha academy had fairly horrible cafeteria food. The lunch ladies wouldn't know what to do with fruit that didn't come from a can.

"What are you waiting for? Get started."

"Right now? I can't. I need to calculate a whole bunch of things--"

"I can give you most of the info you need: weights, lengths and such. The melons vary, obviously."

"Oh." She noticed the numbers written on each.

Sakura sat down on the base of the contraption and fervently wished for the formula sheet that was provided when one took the unified test. She had some idea of where to begin, but the physics formulas she'd learned her freshman year laid out nicely on a piece of paper would do a lot to jog her memory. Not that she'd ever had to make such calculations before. All the problems she'd worked were simple ball-throwing ones. Ball goes up, ball goes down, ball travels a certain distance.

This was much more difficult.

The trebuchet was a first class lever. That much was easy to see, so there was a relationship between the mass of the object to be thrown and the mass used as counterweight. If a heavy kid were to jump onto one side of a seesaw, the smaller kid on the other side would be thrown off. And the lighter that kid, the farther he'd fly. This was the same. Then there was the force generated as the heavy counterweighted side of the lever fell, sending the lighter sight, with its attached baggage into the air. The sling itself would swing out in an arc, too, further complicating things. And once the watermelon started flying gravity would be involved, of course, and wind resistance.

She realized she needed to record her calculations. The math was far too complicated to figure out in her head.

"How about something to write with?"

"It will cost you five points."

Sakura was sure Sensei was grinning behind the superfluous white mask he wore. It was January. There was nothing to be allergic to at this time of year.

"Fine. Give it to me." Her tone was considerably ruder than was acceptable when addressing a teacher, but she didn't care. She had no idea why, but it was clear that he was trying to piss her off.

Hatake-sensei pulled a forlorn stub of a pencil from his pocket and held out the tooth-bitten tool, its ferrule dented where the eraser had once been. He didn't bother standing up, or even leaning in her general direction. Sakura circumnavigated the hulking wooden structure that separated them, and grabbed the writing implement.

"Do you want paper, too? That will be five more points."

"No. I thought I'd do my calculations right here." Sakura kicked the platform beside her.

That seemed to upset him slightly. "Here. Take this," he quickly replied, handing her a folded scrap of paper. "I'm a nice guy. I won't charge you for it."

"Thanks ever so much," she said in as dry a tone as she could manage.

"You're supposed to come prepared to class, Sakura. If you can't be bothered to do so, it's my prerogative to penalize you. You won't learn, otherwise."

"I'm always prepared for class. I left my bag in my locker. You didn't say I'd need to bring anything."

He didn't respond.

"How heavy is the counterweight?"

"One hundred kilos."

Fifty times heavier than the heaviest watermelon projectile. At least he was using round numbers. She wouldn't have been surprised if he'd thrown in some fractions just to make things sloppy. She scribbled some calculations, then stopped, frustrated by the sheer stupidity of the endeavor she'd been forced to undertake.

"You know, I need a calculator with trig functions to do this right." She needed to figure out how much force could be generated by the falling counterweight, and how much would transfer through the lever and sling to the melon.

"They didn't have calculators five hundred years ago."

"Well, what about a trig table, then?"

He rummaged in the pocket of pants wrinkled by two consecutive days of wearing.

"Like this? Five points."

"So the highest score I can get on this is a 90%?"

"Right. Assuming you hit the target on the first try."

"And if I don't?" He was playing with her. He must know full well that an overachiever like her would be horrified to get anything lower than the equivalent of an "A." This man was easily the creepiest, most hateful teacher she'd ever met.

"I really don't see why you're having me do this. In the feudal era they would have figured out how to use the trebuchet through trial and error. They didn't have Newton's laws to guide them. And they didn't have trigonometry, either." She laughed loudly. "I can just see the daimyou's men sitting there doing calculations while an unwashed horde was attacking the palace."

"You're wrong about the trig. They used star charts then, for navigation. You need trig to do those calculations. But as for the rest, trial and error is sadly a luxury you don't have. But you _do_ have the math skills. It's time to put them to use."

"But what's the point?"

"The point?" Her teacher scratched his head as he smiled for the first time that day. Sakura assumed he was smiling, anyway-- his eyes had narrowed into plump-cheeked crescents. "What's the point of studying projectile movement and kinematics in school, if not to use it?"

"This isn't the feudal era. People don't use this technology any more."

"Do you think it's any easier to calculate the trajectory of a bullet?" Hatake-sensei shifted his position on the playing field, which was still green as a result of this year's mild winter. Sakura thought of the grounds keeper again. He was going to be furious about the gouges the wooden wheels of the trebuchet had carved into the lawn. The scars were deep and wide and would likely require re-sodding. Sakura hoped she wouldn't be blamed for them. But she had a suspicion that she would, and this miserable feeling made her irritation towards her teacher all the worse.

"I think that anyone using a gun practices until he's comfortable with it. The rest comes by intuition." Her voice was snippy and had the tinge of a know-it-all-- a persona that came easily to her, but which she usually did her best to avoid projecting. Right now, however, she didn't care. Teacher or not, he had no right to be so patronizing to her.

Her sensei laughed. "You really don't think I'd trust you with a gun, do you?"

Guns were illegal in the city-state of Konoha for all but the police and the king's guard. It was a moot point really, as there was no way a teacher could own such a weapon, but Sakura noticed Hatake (she decided she would no longer refer to him as "sensei" when thinking to herself) had taken the opportunity to impugn her

"People who know me know that I'm trustworthy."

"Sure. Whatever you say. You have a half hour left, by the way."

"What? You didn't say anything about a time limit!"

Hatake chuckled, obviously pleased at her distress. "You'll be late to your next class, otherwise."

"It's _your_ fault class started late. I need more time."

He laughed again.

"I guess we'll have to make up the rest after school, then."

So much for meeting with her friends. She should have just kept her mouth shut and gritted her teeth. Responding to the sadist was counterproductive.

But she'd be damned before letting that man take away that only time she had left to spend with her friends.

Sakura quickly finished her calculations, then reached up unlatch the wooden stop that kept the huge ratcheted winch from turning.

"I haven't considered wind speed. Any idea what it is?"

"Variable. Feudal warriors had no way to measure it either. Tell you what. I'll give you three tries. I'm feeling generous today. Anywhere in the goal area will do. That's a pretty big target."

"And what if I fail?"

He shook his head in a mockingly. "A red mark in my grade book. Your first, if I'm not mistaken."

The man actually winked at her.

Sakura sighed. Hatake really did find pleasure in taunting her, and she had no doubt that he would take great delight in ruining her grade point average. It was almost as if he existed to vex her. Sakura didn't usually have such a self-centered view of the universe (that was her friend Ino's thing), but in this case it seemed to be warranted. It was clear that getting around Hatake was going to require all of her strategic skills.

Being sweet hadn't worked: he considered her a thief and a liar. Therefore everything she said was suspect.

Reason hadn't worked either. Whether feudal-era warriors used mathematics was of little concern to the man.

The model student act worked with every other teacher. But Sakura could tell this tactic, like all her others, would be useless on Hatake. He seemed eager to sully her G.P.A., and she had a feeling he was one of the rare breed of teachers who really didn't care about grades. Sadly, product was more important to him.

Fine. She'd give him product.

Sakura cranked the handle to wind the thick rope of the trebuchet onto the wooden winch, resting every now and then as the increasing force on the rope made her task more difficult. Whoever had constructed this weapon had done a good job, at least. A pawl held the ratchet when she released her grip, and it showed no signs of failing.

"Could you help me with this? I don't think I'm strong enough."

Hatake clucked like an old woman. "It will cost you another five points. Are you sure you want my assistance?"

"Never mind," she glowered at him. "I'll do it myself."

Her sensei was silent as she struggled to wind the last of the rope onto the winch. But she had his full attention, Sakura noticed. He'd closed his mysterious paper-covered book, marking his place with his finger. He made no move to help her, however. He seemed to be serious about charging her for any assistance.

"Fine," she thought to herself. "Just fine!" She loaded a melon into the sling that seemed to be made expressly for an object of its size, and checked the line of sight down the field. She climbed down from the structure and placed her hand on the release lever.

"Hey!" Hatake was by her side in an instant-- his swiftness surprised her. "Not so fast. You arm is in the way. The force would have pulled it off. Stand like this, instead." He put one hand on each shoulder and positioned her gently. "This," he motioned to a meter wide area within the device, "is the red zone. That's why there's a rope. Pull that, instead." His expression was stern. "We went over this. Weren't you listening?

"Okay. I _heard_ you. I just misunderstood. Am I clear to fire now?"

"No need to get surly, Sakura."

She bit her lip. "Can I fire?"

"Yes. Go for it."

Sakura released the latch, and was surprised at the speed at which the rope uncoiled from the winch as the counterbalance descended. She was lucky Hatake had pulled her out of the way. The force generated by the falling metal plates was considerable, and more frightening up close than its two dimensional representation on paper.

Sakura squinted for the few seconds that the fruit was airborne, then frowned as the watermelon hit the ground with a unappetizing splat. She was off by at least ten meters. That wasn't good, not for her, anyway. But the difference in distance must be due to wind resistance-- it was the only variable she hadn't considered. The wind was blowing at five kilometers per hour, max. And this second melon was a good deal lighter than the first. She scribbled some more calculations and gave it a another shot.

The second time she was within eight meters of the goal, but that still wasn't good enough. Something was wrong with her calculations. She'd purposefully tried to overshoot the goal. Sakura glanced at her watch. Five minutes until class ended.

The student hurriedly rewound the snake of heavy coir rope and placed the final fruit in the launcher. She couldn't move the weapon closer-- she had no idea how Hatake had dragged such a heavy object onto the field. He must have enlisted several teachers to help him. But what else could she vary? The length of the sling, perhaps. But how?

Hatake (she felt a small tinge of glee every time she said his name minus its honorific-- although never aloud) hadn't gone back to reading his book. She could feel his eyes on her back as she worked and she wondered why he was suddenly interested. She shrugged mentally. Maybe he was worried about liability. The school's insurance policy probably didn't cover outdoor experiments involving medieval weaponry. The honor student smiled for a moment as she briefly—only briefly—considered faking an injury. He would probably lose his job if she were hurt.

But it wouldn't be worth it, she decided as she positioned the last projectile. She'd just give this a final try and hope it landed in the right place.

"You're forgetting something," Hatake said finally.

She turned to him, hands on hips. It was just like him to hold back information, she decided.

"Efficiency."

Sakura had no idea what he was talking about.

"This is the real world. Things don't work here the way they do in textbooks. There's friction and mass to consider. Not all of the energy will transfer. You haven't considered that."

"Oh." He was right. She had been assuming an unrealistic, perfected environment, the type seen in practice problems. The type where machines were weightless, parts didn't rub against each other, and energy wasn't wasted.

"73% efficiency. Really good for a machine of this class."

"How much is that piece of information going to cost me?"

He laughed unabashedly, and from the sound of this joyful noise she assumed she'd just failed.

Screw him. He could fail her if he liked, but she'd show him she could do this task. Then she'd go straight to Tsunade-sama's office and demand she be removed from the class. Or she'd plead-- whichever worked. Sakura reworked her calculations and chose a melon that was substantially lighter than the first and second. He'd thought ahead: there were several to choose from.

Sakura held her breath as she launched the third projectile, suddenly anxious to succeed. And when she did, she raised her fist in victory, pleased yet stunned that the cucurbit had landed exactly where she'd predicted, centered squarely within the goal.

Success. It felt so good. She savored the sensation, and turned to her teacher, instinctively looking for affirmation.

"Good work." Hatake coiled the rope himself, adding a padlock she hadn't seen before to the stop holding the ratchet in place.

"_Good work_? How can you say that? That was incredible!" The always perfect honor student hadn't felt this victorious in quite some time.

"You're the one who said this was a pointless endeavor," he replied evenly as they walked toward the building. "I wouldn't want to embarrass you by congratulating you for a worthless success."

"Well. I was wrong, I guess."

"Get the door, would you?"

Sakura opened the heavy door and allowed him to pass. She wondered briefly about his plans for the other melons. Somehow, she couldn't imagine him teaching this lesson to this other students.

"Where did you get a trebuchet, anyway?"

He shrugged. "It's the school's."

"But why would the school have one? And why would _you_ know there was one? You're not a drama or history teacher."

Her sensei laughed. "It's been here forever. Some friends and I built it for the school festival years ago. We made a lot of money on it, too. Most of our classmates weren't very good at predicting where the melon would land."

"Oh," was all Sakura could manage, as she was slightly confused. "You went to school here?" She paused as the gears of her brain whirred and clicking fragments of information into a likely hypothesis. "So that's how Tsunade-sama knows you."

"Not exactly. That's how she met me, sure. But we have a long history-- many interactions."

"Oh?" This sounded interesting. Perhaps her well-preserved guardian had a thing for younger men.

"For instance, back when I was your age she wouldn't let us use the trebuchet for its intended purpose."

"Which was..?" Demolishing the school, perhaps?

"Launching students. We were going to set up a huge net on the other side of the field and fire people at it. Kind of like bungee jumping, but horizontal."

"And Tsunade-sama didn't go for this?" Sakura giggled. That was a ridiculous question. No headmistress in her right mind would allow a stunt like that.

"You've seen how accurate it is when you make the right calculations. And the net was quite large. And it worked."

Sakura stared at her teacher, looking for a tell that he was joking. But although she didn't know him well at all, she had a feeling he wasn't kidding. The sling was head-sized, now that she thought about it. No wonder melons fit so well.

Speaking of which.

"We need to clean up! Ebisu-san will have a fit if he sees crushed melon all over the field."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"But--"

"You'll be late to class. Wouldn't want to tarnish that sterling reputation, would we?"

"No. Okay." She headed up the stairs, but turned her head when she felt his eyes on her.

"Sakura. Good job today."

"Um, thanks." She blushed. He'd praised her twice. While the words weren't much, at least he'd acknowledged her.

"A seventy-five percent is a bit more than I expected."

_What_?

"When I see you tomorrow I want you to tell me what you learned. Because you did learn something, didn't you?"

"Sure."

She turned on her heel and stormed off, suddenly irate again. A _seventy-five_? All that work for a "C" grade? If this continued it would ruin her GPA. She couldn't allow this to happen.

What _had_ she learned today? He obviously was hoping she'd find some deeper meaning from the lesson. And truthfully, she had learned a few things, although probably not what her teacher hoped. She'd learned that the grey-haired Hatake-_sensei_ was once the type of dorky high school student that built medieval siege engines. That he still thought it would be fun to fire people through the air. That apparently he'd _done_ so. That he'd attended Konoha Academy. That last bit was interesting, she realized, quickly diverting her path away from the classroom and toward the library.

She had to get her "A."

Sakura had learned something else today. Sucking up wasn't going to work with this man, nor was reason. There was always espionage, though. Every person had secrets.

She was looking forward to finding out his.


	3. Truce

**To Sensei, with Love**

_Author's note: Thanks for waiting for this chapter. the next one will be posted more quickly, I promise!_**  
**

**Chapter 3: Truce**

He's not cute, and he's _not_ attractive," Sakura spat as she pushed a wide broom down the classroom's aisles. "What he is... is a monster– an unmitigated, fiendishly sadistic monster."

Sakura's friends gathered at the back of room 115 laughed in response to this outburst. Their leader was the first to offer a rebuttal.

"I can't believe you're complaining when you got to spend two hours alone with the most handsome teacher ever to walk the halls of Konoha Academy." Ino's expression was telling. It was hard to believe she was envious, but her face said otherwise.

"Two hours in the freezing cold, launching overripe fruit," Sakura clarified. "And how would you know if he's handsome or not?"

"Rumor. Pure rumor. But this is grade A. From the source, almost. Apparently Kurenai-sensei went to university with him."

"And she told you this?"

"No, she told Hinata's cousin about a guy she'd had a crush on back then."

"Your cousin?" Sakura turned to address the preternaturally quiet girl. "Lady Hidamari? Didn't she graduate 5 years ago?"

Hinata nodded vigorously. "She m-mentioned it to me a while ago. We were talking about how lonely Kurenai-sensei seems."

Ino interrupted impatiently. "Yes, yes. It was at the senior retreat that Hidamari found out. Kurenai-sensei chaperoned, as usual. I swear, the woman doesn't have a life. The girls got her drunk– can you imagine? They played truth or dare. That was how Kakashi-sensei came up."

"By name?"

"No, of course not. Sensei was drunk, not stupid. She's not the type to kiss and tell. It's obvious."

"So you don't know that she was talking about him."

Ino rolled her eyes in response.

"She talked specifically about a prematurely grey classmate who had a flair for showing off. A guy who always covered his face– except that she got to see it once or twice. Sound like anyone we know?"

"I'd jump his bones. In a minute, Sakura." The bubbly Tenten rarely spoke up when it came to talk about sex, preferring to talk about the many sports she played instead. It was strange that she had an opinion about such a loathsome man. It was even more strange that she found him attractive.

"It doesn't matter. He could be the most handsome man in Konoha, but it wouldn't change the fact that he's a sadist. He marked me down each time I asked a question. I'll be lucky to get a B minus on that assignment."

Sakura picked up a rag and began to wipe down the chalkboard. She hated after school duties with a passion. And the fact that somehow she'd been saddled with these week's duty particularly irked her. Usually a team was assigned each week, not a single person.

"I thought you guys were going to help me."

"Oh, right." Tenten rose from her seat on the window ledge and strolled across the room to the door. "Actually, I forgot I have tennis club today. I skipped most of last semester. They'll kick me out if I don't show up."

Ino giggled. "Aren't you the vice-president?"

"Yeah," the athlete responded with a bob of her head, setting her dark braids swinging. "But that was really just for college. Once the exams are over and applications are in, I plan on stepping down. The national archery competition is coming up and I need to get in more practice."

"I'm never going to get into a good school," Sakura grumbled. "And it's all his fault." The thought of her grades plummeting at Hatake-sensei's discretion filled her stomach with an ocean of roiling waves.

"You should come with Ino and me to juku. The class is full but I think my dad could pull some strings," Hinata offered softly, oblivious as usual to Sakura's financial concerns. But this wasn't due to thoughtlessness. Most of middle-class life was alien to Lady Hinata. She didn't know how to push a broom or mop, and likely couldn't boil water. Her family's money insulated her from much of daily life.

"Speaking of which, Hinata and I really should be going. The red-line streetcar is on a half-hour schedule. We'll be terribly late if we don't catch the next one."

An abandoned Sakura sighed as she continued her classroom duty. She had to wonder why the girls hadn't spoken up for her in homeroom. The duty roster was posted that morning, and they might have put in a word for her. They all knew Mitarashi-sensei had it in for her, although no one including Sakura had the faintest idea why. But her teacher's misplaced ire was obviously the reason why Sakura assigned the task of cleaning the room alone.

Her friends had said they would help out, but those were empty words. They typically left Sakura holding the bag when it came to group activities, knowing that she would make sure the job got done to her own high standards. She'd done several class projects independently, letting her friends add their names to the finished project. Sakura hadn't complained. That was the price, she decided, for running with the popular crowd. In such a competitive group there was a definite social structure. Hinata was at the top, although characteristically, she didn't realize it. Her money and quiet beauty saw to her installment as classroom queen. She was a figurehead, however. It was Ino that ran the group. Tenten was a definite in, due to her ready laugh and popularity with the boys. Not that she was slutty or anything. She was one of the boys– respected as an athlete and invited to fraternize as though she was her teammates' younger sister. The boys confided in her as well. Therefore she was a valuable source of information to Ino.

Sakura was not sure of her own role in the clique. Perhaps she was the "smart one," the brainy group member that made sure the rest got passing grades. But if that were true, Ino and Hinata wouldn't be attending juku. And Tenten got A's without even trying. Maybe the group needed a protégé, someone average to hold up before the class to suggest that they, too might be able to join in, some day. If so, it was a cruel joke. Their little club was an exclusive one, and Ino and company took great sport in dissecting the attributes of their lesser classmates. So, too, did Sakura on occasion.

The pink-haired honors student locked away the cleaning supplies and focused her attention on the windows. All were open despite the chill. The boys had stopped by after soccer practice without showering first. It was amazing how badly they stunk after a half-hour scrimmage. And either they did not realize this, or they thought it some manly fragrance that would attract every female in the area. Probably the former– despite their senior status, several of them seemed to have no interest in dating. Naruto for instance focused all of his energy on one-upping his self-styled rival, Uchiha Sasuke. And Sasuke, the focus years before of Sakura's first, all-consuming crush seemed as uninterested in girls as ever. He did date, but only enough to put down rumors about his sexuality. Smart boy, Sasuke. Ino never even had a chance to set the mill running.

Sakura shut and locked each of the windows, using a pole to slide shut the upper sash, then cranking the lower casements shut. She smiled as she looked outside. Even a mundane place like a school could be beautiful at times. In the golden, late afternoon light the playing field below her glistened. This was due to the fact that the sprinkler system had just come on, despite the chilly temperature. Water arced across the field in slow pirouettes. Such beauty would come at a price, however: the lawn would probably be black with frost by morning. Grounds keeper Ibiki would be livid at the incompetence of his staff, and some poor freshman would likely be tasked with re-sodding the field come spring. The first who damaged a prized tree or shrub, no doubt.

Several patches of pink disturbed the sea of green below her, and Sakura frowned as she recognized the melon flesh thrown there hours earlier. Her brows knit together as she regarded the vegetal carnage. That idiot teacher had promised her he'd take care of it! Ibiki would have her head if it wasn't cleaned up before he noticed.

Sakura raced downstairs, hastily changed into her street shoes and coat and ran outside, a plastic bag she pulled from a trash can trailing behind her like a half-opened parachute.

Apparently the boys had ignored the chunks of melon littering the area like dismembered flesh at a crime scene. There were several spots of pink mush on the soccer field, but most bits of fruit remained intact. Sakura combed the center of the field on her hands and knees, grimacing with disgust as she picked of chunks of cold, slightly sticky melon.

She was lucky to have noticed the mess before leaving for home. Ibiki was notorious for making students lives miserable if they crossed him. A month of after school lawn care was not on the top of Sakura's must-do list.

Really, this capped off a stellar day. She'd waited in a cold hall for a teacher who didn't even apologize for being late, watched her grades suffer as he forced her to launch over sized projectiles in a pointless "real world" exercise, and was rewarded with cleaning the classroom and now the playing field. Alone. Sakura shivered in disgust. She could feel ice cold mud oozing beneath her knees.

Honestly, the man said he would take care of it. He'd promised. She reached for another melon chunk and with great distaste, hurled it into the waiting bag.

"Idiot." Stupid, sadistic monkey of an idiot.

"Who's an idiot?"

Sakura looked up to see a now-familiar leather clad figure blocking the setting sun.

"You said–"

"I said I'd handle it, didn't I?" Her teacher shrugged. "And I was planning to."

Hatake-sensei squatted beside her. He didn't bother to remove his helmet, but did peel off the leather gloves he wore. Funny. She wouldn't have thought of him as fastidious, considering the rumpled, pre-worn clothes he'd taught in that day.

"Liar. It's obvious you were on your way home. Your bike's right over there." A large black motorcycle stood at the edge of the field, impressive in its dark, looming masculinity.

"You caught me. Guilty as charged. But I'm here now. Isn't that what counts?"

Although she couldn't see his face, she could tell he was smiling behind the smoked, Plexiglas shield of his helmet. He grabbed the bag from her and stood.

"Don't go anywhere."

Sakura waited as he quickly scavenged the field for the rest of the fruit, then dumped the litter in a trash can close to the school's back entrance. She busied herself by searching her satchel for a package of tissues and the bottle of hand sanitizer she pulled out whenever forced to visit the public restrooms on the streetcar line. She returned said items to her bag before he returned, however. She saw no reason to share with the author of her doom.

Sakura brushed off her skirt and examined her legs. Her thigh-high socks were filthy with mud. What a sight she'd be on the streetcar ride home. She carefully peeled the socks off, standing stork like on one leg as she removed one sock and shoe, and then the others. She shivered once she was done, suddenly aware of the cold. But at least her legs were moderately clean now.

Hatake-sensei returned, wiped his legs against a handkerchief he removed from his jacket, then pulled on his leather gloves and hopped on his bike. He motioned for her to do the same.

She approached warily.

"It's the least I could do, seeing as it's rush hour. I assume you have no desire to be groped on the train ride home."

"Streetcar."

"Same difference."

Sakura regarded the hulking black machine cautiously.

"It looks dangerous."

It was like testosterone turned metal. It reeked of manliness and danger.

"Never rode before?" She was sure she heard him chuckling behind his helmet.

She shook her head.

"It's easy. Just hold on tight and lean whenever I do. No sudden moves and you'll be fine." Hatake-sensei turned away from a moment to remove his helmet. "And take this." When he turned back, Sakura was not surprised to see that he'd covered the lower portion of his face with a scarf. He seemed to have a thing about being seen. That afternoon, she'd spent hours in the library hunting down his yearbook photos. For most of his years at the academy his official image was missing, replaced with the words "photo not available." Sakura had searched carefully for candid shots, but the young Hatake seemed to be involved with very few after-school activities. And in every photo she did find, his face was hidden by a book, or a sweatshirt, or like today, a scarf.

He was deformed, Sakura decided, despite Ino's evidence to the contrary. He had a hare-lip or horrible nose, and couldn't afford the surgery to fix it. He was a teacher, after all. That job was hardly known for providing a generous salary.

"Stop daydreaming and get on."

"Don't you need a helmet?'

"I'll be fine." His laugh was partially obscured as the bike roared to life.

He'd probably get a ticket, but that was none of her concern. After the day she'd had– a day for which he was ultimately responsible– her teacher deserved a little payback. She tried not to smile as she imagined a police officer dressing down Hatake-sensei. A 100-ryo fine and points on his license was hopefully in her teacher's future.

"Don't be shy, Sakura. It's better than the alternative."

The pink haired student cautiously mounted the bike. It wasn't really built for two, she noted, although there was a place for her to sit. It wasn't a comfort-driven touring bike like the tricked out versions rode by pompadoured bousouzoku. No, this bike was built for speed. It had no chrome, she noted and few metallic parts besides a huge muffler that rose up close to her seat.

"Keep your legs away from the exhaust pipe. It's hot. See the pegs just by the pipe?" She looked down. "Rest your feet there."

This was difficult to do, considering how high up the footrests were. Her knees jutted into the air, grasshopper style, exposing most of her leg. A passenger would have to abandon any pretense of modesty– that was probably why they usually wore pants. Not short, pleated uniform skirts that stopped at mid-thigh disallowing their wearer from even bending over. Not that he could see, but it was the principle of the thing, she decided. She scooted forward to the lower part of the seat, closer to her teacher: this allowed her legs to sit at a more appropriate angle. Then she gingerly wrapped her arms around Hatake. There was no alternative: she had nothing else to grab onto. She slammed against him as the motorcycle suddenly jolted backward, and felt her sadistic teacher's full body laugh through the thick leather of his jacket.

Surely he'd intended for that to happen: he knew the laws of physics and this was a simple application of Newton's first law. Objects tended to stay put unless a force interceded. Her body stayed put until it met his. Sakura did her best to straighten up so she wasn't pressed so tightly against the man. She failed miserably, however. They were still accelerating. If she sat back now, she'd probably lose her grip and be thrown from the bike.

Hatake's jacket smelled nice, at least, of well-oiled leather. She had always liked that fragrance– as a child, a new pair of leather shoes was the greatest pleasure of back-to-school shopping. That and a box of newly sharpened pencils.

Sakura decided it wasn't so weird to be riding on the back of her teacher's lightning-fast motorcycle. A ride home was the least he could do for her after ruining her day. And she'd always wanted to see what it was like to ride a fast bike.

It was a _Ninja_, she'd noticed as she inspected the vehicle. A shiny black _Kawasaki_, as dark and polished as the leathers Hatake had changed into. Perhaps in his fantasy life her sensei saw himself as a shinobi. Sakura giggled at the thought of a math teacher living a secret life as a bad-ass political operative. The thought of Hatake-sensei committing murders for hire was ridiculously unlikely, even if the man did own a 200 kilo crotch rocket.

Owning such a bike was probably the result of a mid-life crisis. But was he that old? It was hard to tell. The few year book photos she'd found showed that his hair was silver grey from middle school on. Apparently he had not attended Konoha Academy before then. And his face was covered all the time, obscuring the best indicator of age. But he was in great physical shape– his leather pants, cut tightly, left little to the imagination. And she could feel the well-defined muscles of his back as she leaned against him.

But according to the dates on the library's yearbooks, Hatake-sensei must be about 35 years old. Well, that was middle-age, give or take a few years.

Sakura held on tightly as her teacher careened through rush hour traffic. He entered the highway, increasing his speed significantly as he left the on ramp. As usual for this time of day, traffic was almost at a standstill. Sakura's sensei wove among the crawling cars at speeds she guessed approached 100 kph. Thankfully he exited quickly.

But this was fun, she had to admit. The speed was invigorating, and her teacher showed no hesitation as he sped along the tree-lined boulevard that bisected the city. It was clear he was an experienced rider. Her seat was not terribly comfortable, but this really didn't matter. The only down side was that she was fairly certain she was giving passersby a free look at her panties. They were cute, at least, striped in several colors of pink. Her legs were ice cold, however, chilled by the wind generated by the racing bike. She knew they'd soon start to itch, as they had years ago when she built snowmen on frigid snow days.

Even with a home-knit hat and muffler she'd felt the penetrating cold.

His _muffler_.

Like her skirt, it must be flapping in the wind. Sakura leaned deeply to her right to catch a view of her teacher in his rear view mirror. The wind hadn't dislodged his scarf, but it had pushed the hair back from his face. She saw his eyes—both of them– clearly for the first time, and gasped as she noticed the scar bisecting the left one.

He _was_ disfigured. Her thought was punctuated with a physical jolt. The bike slid sideways and for a moment Sakura was sure she'd hit the pavement.

Thankfully, sensei had slowed down by then. He quickly righted the bike and pulled to a sudden stop. She slammed against him again. Physics in action. Perhaps this was another "real life" lesson.

"Don't do that!" She saw anger in his single, coal-black eye as he twisted his torso to face her. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

His scarf was intact. She couldn't help thinking this, despite the angry lecture issuing forth from her teacher, mostly unheard. And–

Shit. She'd just burned her leg. Her foot slipped from its peg, landing her lower thigh against the screaming hot exhaust pipe. He started up the bike and quickly brought it up to speed again.

She deserved it, she guessed. She should have listened to the man, and not leaned so dangerously to the side. It was his bike,after all. He knew how it worked and how to stay safe.

He must have felt her grip him tighter.

"Everything okay back there?"

"Fine. Fine," she nodded, wincing through tears. Thankfully he couldn't see.

Hatake-sensei navigated easily through canyons of white concrete buildings, the arteries coursing among them unnamed, the buildings mostly unnumbered. It took most residents a while to learn the ins and outs of her neighborhood. It was a cab driver's ultimate challenge, or so she'd heard, and a tourist's nightmare. Not that there was much to see: it was a boring middle class neighborhood, filled with mom and pop shops and the most mundane of chain stores. Funny that Hatake knew his way around.

He took the turn a bit too quickly, tilting the bike again, but this time she leaned with him and there was no danger of them falling. Her teacher pulled into the driveway of her apartment building and shifted to neutral, idling the engine as he pulled out his wallet.

"How do you know where I live?"

"I'm your teacher, remember?"

Sakura regarded him warily. An elementary teacher would know the address of each of his students, as he was minutely responsible for their behavior, both inside and outside the classroom. A home visit was warranted for even the slightest infraction of the rules, along with apologies on the student's behalf, should any community member be involved. But such visits were rare by middle school and unheard of by high school. There was no reason to know her address– unless he was some kind of stalker-pervert.

He interpreted her silence correctly, quickly amending his rather lame explanation. "Besides, I live here, too. Did you wonder when I didn't ask directions?"

He located his entry pass and swiped it over a nearby access panel. The garage door clanked open, and Hatake coasted toward the subterranean entrance. He parked and secured his bike in a space marked, "Hatake," and pocketed the keys.

Sakura decided she could be excused for not knowing he lived in the same building– she never visited the garage, not owning a car, and she tended to ignore the names posted on other mailboxes. The kanji on most was difficult to interpret. A name could be read so many ways.

"I can't get off until you do."

"W-what?" Sakura belatedly realized the meaning of her teacher's words and dismounted. She walked quickly toward the double doors that most likely led to an elevator and the complex above.

Hatake caught up with her, just before the elevator doors closed.

"No thanks for the ride?" The door bounced off his outstretched arm.

"Oh, right. San kyuu."

"Arigatou would be more appropriate."

"Domo arigatou gozaimashita, Hatake-sensei." She bowed deeply. "Happy?"

"Very."

Sakura pressed the already lit button to her floor three more times, aware of the fact that her sensei had moved directly behind her. That shouldn't matter. He was a _teacher_, for heaven's sake, a man entrusted with her intellectual upbringing. But she still cringed as he reached over her shoulder to press the "6."

He shouldn't smell good, she decided. Even if he was disfigured, there was something extremely attractive about him. Something dangerous and inherently masculine. He was so different from the boys at the Academy. So grown up and...serious. And that bike.

Her next boyfriend (well, technically speaking her _first_) would own a motorcycle. Any guy who rode one would be distractingly sexy.

The second semester senior realized she was holding her breath. She released it slowly and carefully, aware that Hatake-sensei was measuring her in some way. He still stood only centimeters apart from her, and it had her on edge.

Sakura attempted to scurry off the elevator when it reached floor five, but she was stopped by a firm hand on her shoulder.

"No. My place."

She turned to him in shock as the elevator door slid shut.

"Did you think I didn't notice that burn on your leg? Come on, I've got a first aid kit."

"I can take care of it."

"You can't even reach it, can you?"

She twisted around to look at the burn. She could reach it. But she could barely _see _it. He was right-- tending to it would be difficult. She sighed with reluctant acceptance. She didn't like that he was right.

They exited at the next floor, and she followed him down a long poorly lit hallway and around the corner to his apartment.

"612? You live directly above me?"

He shrugged as he turned his key in the lock. "Do I? I was wondering who was making all that noise downstairs."

"That's not _me_." She glared at him and saw he was smiling. At least she thought he was smiling. The eye she could see behind his disordered fringe of hair was crinkled into a crescent moon shape.

Wrinkles, she though. Another sign of middle age.

"Coats go there." He pointed to a row of hooks just beyond the doorway. "Take a seat. In fact, you'd better lie down."

She had to giggle as she entered the space. It might have been her own apartment. It made sense for a person like her to rent a furnished apartment– she was forced to sell most of her parents' belongings to settle their debts– but a man of thirty-five? She settled onto a familiar, amorphously shaped leather sofa as her sensei left the room.

He returned with a damp washcloth and zippered bag of ice. He'd removed his jacket, she noticed, revealing a simple tank top of the wife beater variety, and tied a bandanna around his face. This gave him the look of a bank robber, one with a perfect chest and abs, and gorgeously muscled arms.

A sadistic bank-robber, she reminded herself. Who happened to be at least thirty-five years old and the only thing standing between her and the relaxed, fun-filled senior year she deserved.

Teachers shouldn't have good bodies, she decided. The resultant cognitive dissonance was stupefying.

"Roll onto your stomach. And lift your skirt, please."

Hatake-sensei knelt beside her, leather pants creaking as he did so, and lay first the damp cloth, then the ice on the circular burn just above the back of her knee.

"I can take care of this myself."

"You don't have a first aid kit, do you?"

"Well, no."

"Or elastic bandages?"

She shook her head.

"So how would you keep the ice from moving?"

"I'd lie still."

"All night?"

She nodded.

"Look, this burn is pretty serious. If you'd rather, I can take you to the hospital–"

"No," she replied emphatically. Not the hospital. Another bill was the last thing she needed.

"Then seeing as this is my fault..."

Sakura craned her neck to get a glimpse of her teacher. That was the last thing she'd expected him to say.

"How was it your fault? I'm the one who leaned out stupidly."

"True–"

Did he just agree that she was stupid?

"–but only because you were trying to get a look at my face." He lifted the shock of hair that covered his forehead. "So, take a good look."

His eyes were mismatched– even though she'd only seen a glimpse of them earlier, she had thought this was true. The one on his right was a typical, even beautiful eye, its iris so dark that the pupil was barely discernible, its shape a pleasing almond, surmounted by a slightly hooded lid that gave him an air of boredom.

But the one on the right was strange. The scar bisecting it ran from his eyebrow to the cheek below, disappearing somewhere under the bandanna. The wound was whitened by age, with the slight shine that comes from being flexed thousands of times. The eye itself was a blood red, not the unusual, dark ruby of Kurenai-sensei– hers were as elegantly beautiful as she was– but the bright oxygenated red of arterial blood. The pupil was strange, too. It did not have the typical round shape, but appeared to have invaded the surrounding iris. It was more triangular than round, each vertex twisted slightly in a clockwise direction. It's symmetry wasn't perfect, but it came close. Perhaps the knife had twisted as it cut straight through pupil, white and iris. However it happened, it must have hurt terribly.

Sakura found that she couldn't stop staring at. The eye was mesmerizing, really, but she'd always found bizarre conditions interesting. Her mother often had to drag her away from the television when programs featuring medical curiosities were on: such lowbrow freak shows had no place in the upbringing of a young girl, she'd always said. Sakura had disagreed, of course, although she'd never said so.

"What happened?"

"Knife fight. When I was a teenager."

"Wait. A Konoha academy student got into a knife fight?"

"I was a scholarship kid. Lived in a rough neighborhood."

Sakura raised an eyebrow. She'd assumed that like most of the Academy's students, he was born wealthy.

"Are you blind?"

"Luckily, no. But it healed strangely, as you can see. I'm not an albino, in case you were wondering. The eye lost its pigment as it healed. But other than that, it works well. Really well, actually, although it's a little sensitive to light."

He shook his head, causing his hair to fall over the eye like a heavy stage curtain.

"It disturbs people, so I keep it covered."

"I think it's interesting, actually."

Sensei laughed aloud. "You're the first person who's ever said that. You got a perfect score in biology, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know so much about me?"

"I wouldn't say that I do." Sensei sat down on the floor next to her, and carefully shifted the bag of ice on her leg to better cover the burn. "How's it feeling?"

"It hurts. Duh."

"Don't wear those socks tomorrow. The ones that go over your knee."

That damn Jiraiya. He had to know that the male teachers were paying attention to students' asses. Unwarranted, inappropriate attention. But hell, appreciating the students' "assets" was probably listed as one of the perks of the job. Sakura's sensei had obviously been checking her out. How would he have noticed the burn on her lower thigh otherwise? And her socks? Boys were oblivious to things like clothing. Most focused solely on one of two specific regions of the body, and those regions didn't include the knees.

But Hatake-sensei wasn't a boy.

Her classmates seemed like children compared to him-- smelly, ill-kempt children who focused on ero games and gravure pictures of their favorite fake-chested teen idols, but ignored the real thing. At least Sasuke had-- she'd given up on the rest of the guys.

It should have disturbed Sakura to learn that Hatake-sensei found her mildly attractive– good looking enough to warrant a glance or two at her rear end, anyway. Teachers didn't do things like that, or if they did, students weren't supposed to know about it. Especially when it came to older teachers. Such behavior gave students the creeps. Whether or not Jiraiya-sensei realized it, female students went out of their way to give him a wide berth. Many walked the opposite direction when they saw him coming down the hall, preferring a detour that would guarantee them a tardy slip than a one on one encounter with the known lecher. Maybe they'd start doing the same thing when Hatake-sensei approached.

"They aren't regulation, by the way. And I have to say, I think they look pretty stupid."

"Let me guess. You like frilly ankle socks, and black patent -leather shoes instead. Tell me, Sensei, are you into the loli look?"

He yawned. "I like women, not girls. And shaved legs, too."

She blushed furiously. That last remark-- well, maybe both of them-- was directed at her. She hadn't had time to shave this morning, as she needed to be be at school so early. So that he could waltz in an hour late. There was only the slightest bit of razor stubble on her legs, and considering the hair was fine, pink, and nearly invisible, it hadn't seemed like a big deal. No one would be getting up close and personal with her legs, or so she'd thought at the time.

"You're avoiding the topic."

"What topic?"

"How do you know so much about me? Surely you haven't studied all of your students' files."

Her teacher chuckled. "I'm dedicated. What can I say?"

She rolled in her eyes. "Yeah, right. That's why you show up an hour late on my first day of class."

Hatake shrugged. "I had obligations."

"Like what?"

"Personal stuff."

"You know a lot of personal stuff about _me_. My address, my grades in classes I took three years ago."

"Which is completely appropriate for a teacher to know. On the other hand, sharing personal information with a _student_ is completely inappropriate."

Sakura glared at him, aware of the pout that was forming on her lips. She put it away-- she'd already learned that the fawning banter that worked so well with other teachers was lost on this one.

"You look stupid, you know."

"Do I?" His manner suggested he could not care less about the opinion of any seventeen year old, let alone this one.

"That bandanna. Are you planning on robbing a bank? Don't you need a sidekick for that? Someone to man the getaway car? Oh, right. Motorcycle."

"I forgot my allergy mask."

"You wear a mask in your own home? They sell HEPA filters, you know. They work wonders. Or maybe you could try vacuuming." The room did need it. A layer of dust covered every horizontal surface.

She tried wheedling. "Let me see your face, Sensei. To make up for the burn. And the fact that you've seen my thigh."

"The whole school has seen your thigh."

That was uncalled for. All of the seniors wore skirts that length. That didn't mean the teachers had to _look_.

"Besides, Sakura, if I did show it to you I'd have to kill you."

Sakura giggled. "Is it really that ugly?"

"Definitely." Sensei rose from the floor and stretched.

"I'm going to keep you here a little longer. I want to make sure you're okay before sending you off. Hungry?"

"Not really."

In truth she was ravenous, and there was little in her own refrigerator. Another meal of cup ramen awaited her should she return unfed, and her stomach bellowed mutinously, proving her a liar.

"Let me guess. You're on a diet."

Sakura bolted upright, eyes wide.

Hatake raised in hands in a gesture of surrender. "Whoa. Hold on. I wasn't implying anything." He left the room in a hurry, but from the slight shaking of his shoulders his student could tell he was subduing a laugh.

Sakura wasn't fat, and she knew it. But teenage life focused so much on externals that almost every girl dreaded hearing those words. And from a man—a fairly good looking man– that would be the ultimate insult.

She reclined again as she listened to the clink of dishes in the kitchen. It was a soothing sound, one that reminded her of dinner with her parents. Her mother wasn't the best cook, and neither was her father, but that didn't keep their meals together from being enjoyable. Despite the fact that they worked at her school they were eager to hear all of the details of her day. They did their best to make her feel special and loved, and they succeeded brilliantly. She could almost see them at the table, laughing over their nightly glass of wine, urging her to finish her vegetables...

Sakura opened her eyes to find her cheek stuck to the cheap white leather of the couch, and a blanket draped across her upper half. When had she fallen asleep?

Sensei sat in mismatched recliner angled across from her, a paper covered book in his lap. Apparently he carried that volume with him everywhere. He stood when he noticed she was awake.

"I'll warm up your dinner."

The pink haired student pulled herself into a kneeling position, and shivered as she felt a trickle of water against her leg. She set the melted bag of ice on the carpeted floor. "No. really. I should be–"

But he'd already left the small living room and she could hear the beeping of the microwave as he programmed it to reheat her meal.

"Fried rice? Wow." That was her second favorite meal. Sensei set a deep ramen bowl on the Formica-topped coffee table, and offered his student a pair of chopsticks. She accepted eagerly, after carefully scooting to the very edge of her seat, mindful of her burn.

"Yeah, sorry it's leftovers."

"Take out? Where from?" The best place was a good twelve blocks from the building.

"Nah. I made it last night."

"It's good," Sakura said through a rice-filled mouth as she wolfed her dinner down. So much for the facade of the dainty lady, she thought with an inward snicker. That wasn't her, anyway. She'd rather enjoy a home-cooked meal prepared by someone–anyone other than her. That wouldn't be possible if she pretended to have the appetite of a bird.

"There's more if you're still hungry." Hatake-sensei was smiling-- she was sure of it. There was a change to the way his eyes crinkled, and a subtle modulation of his voice.

"Thank you. I'm good." The senior grabbed a glass of water and drained it in a gulp. "And thanks for the ride home, too. I..." she frowned as she realized the words she was speaking were true, "I appreciate it." She stood to leave.

"My pleasure." Hatake-sensei set aside his book and stood. "Before you go, let me take another look at that burn."

Hatake dropped to his knees after grabbing the first-aid kit from the coffee table, and she hissed as he gently touched the burn.

"I'm going to put a topical pain killer on it. Do you have any aspirin downstairs?"

Sakura shook her head. Her medicine cabinet was as bare as her kitchen cupboards, but for a different reason. She wasn't one to get headaches, and she rarely got sick.

She felt a cool sensation on the back of her leg, and the gentle pressure of a cotton ball.

"Were you trained in first aid?"

"Mmm hmm. Among other things." Her teacher rummaged in the first aid box as he spoke. "There. That should numb it for a while. I'm going to tape a gauze pad over it so you don't rub anything against it while you sleep, but take it off tomorrow morning. The air will be good for it."

Hatake stood and handed her the first aid kit.

"I'll get another. This is really something you need."

Sakura took the small box and looked at him curiously. He had excellent nursing skills, from what she'd seen. His touch was gentle and he really did seem concerned about her.

"I'll walk you downstairs."

"There's no need, really."

She was wrong about him, Sakura decided.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I apologize for that." Her teacher looked at her unblinkingly as she continued. "But you should know that you misjudged me."

"Oh?" he said blandly. "How so?"

"I didn't cheat. I don't do that kind of thing."

"Actually, Sakura, I knew that all along." Hatake held open the front door for her. "I just wanted to see how you'd respond."

She was too flummoxed to respond.

_Sadist._

That was the only word that fit. Hatake-sensei took delight in tormenting others-- _sadist_ described him perfectly.

"Oh. By the way. Bring your archery gear tomorrow. Hakama, gi, the works."

"What? Why?"

"We're going on a field trip."


	4. Target

**To Sensei, with Love**

Author's note: I'm doing nano right now, but I'm further ahead than I thought I would be, so I should be able to post another chapter of this story in the next couple of weeks. And Mizuage, too. This chapter is still setting up the story, so bear with me. I promise an interesting interaction next chapter.

Chapter 4--Target

An insistent metallic ringing awakened Sakura from a light sleep. Once she threw on a robe she rushed to answer the door if only to stop the unbearable noise of the doorbell. She glanced at her bedside clock as she left her bedroom. Five a.m. Who would be calling on her at this hour? No one, apparently. The rumple-haired student opened her apartment's front door to find the corridor empty. But on her welcome mat stood a white paper sack of the type used by pharmacies, crisply folded at its top.

Sakura pulled her robe around her as she looked up and down the long hall outside her door. She was rewarded with a glimpse of a white athletic shoe and navy sweatpants, as someone turned the corner.

She smiled when she opened the bag. Inside was a pair of lace-trimmed ankle socks, not dissimilar to the type worn by young girls with their Mary Janes. Only these were larger and, she decided, sillier.

After only two days as his student, Sakura had a clear handle on the man's personality. It was very like him to assume she'd ignore his request to keep her leg uncovered. And it was also like him to lean on her doorbell at dark o'clock to make his special delivery.

Sakura _had_ wondered what she'd wear to school that day. Her only white socks were the collection of thigh highs she normally wore to school, and the thick cotton socks that went with her gym shoes. Those were too bulky for her loafers. At least now that question was answered. She'd look silly, but they were white, and that was what counted. Jiraiya-sensei overlooked short skirts and unbuttoned blouses but he was strict about certain tiny details of their uniform. Presumably he had a thing for white socks-- girls got detention in his office, no less, for wearing any other color.

There couldn't be that many perverts in the city of Konoha. Why was the biggest one a fixture at their school?

The high school senior touched her leg gingerly before shutting and re-locking her front door. Hatake-sensei was right about the burn. Her bandage shifted during the night, and Sakura had awoken a few hours ago to the unpleasant sensation of her flesh stuck to the sheet below her. She'd nearly screamed in pain as she gingerly peeled her flesh away from the cloth. She probably should have gone to the hospital the night before: it was clear this wasn't a simple first-degree burn. She'd stumbled into the bathroom and rifled through the first aid kit Sensei had insisted she take. She found the topical pain killer he'd applied earlier and eagerly smeared the cooling blue liquid onto the burn, sighing with relief as she did so. Apparently the man knew what he was talking about when it came to burns.

Nonetheless, she'd show Shizune the mark as soon as she got to school. Tsunade-sama's assistant was also the school nurse and far too competent for both jobs. Why she did such menial tasks for such a demanding boss was beyond Sakura. But she did, thankfully. And Shizune would know instantly if the burn required further attention.

Sakura glanced at her bedside clock once more as she considered the pluses and minuses of returning to the warm, cozy nest of her blankets. Bed won easily. She could sleep for another hour and still get to school before Hatake. It was strange that he was up so early. Sensei had claimed he wasn't a morning person. Beyond that, he seemed lazy, indolent, the kind who was late to every appointment although not purposefully. Rather, she guessed he didn't care about social conventions like punctuality. He was late to class the first day of the semester, and late the second day for their first one-on one class. Sakura was certain that if she asked around she'd find he was late to every other class he taught, as well.

Not that she _would_ ask. Really, she didn't care.

Or if she did it was only from a need to better understand her adversary.

Sakura bolted out of bed when she glanced at the clock again, noticing with panic that it was already 7:10 a.m. She must have dozed off, although she could swear she'd been awake the entire time. She rushed around her bedroom, slamming drawers and doors as she pulled out the day's garments. The only good thing about Konoha Academy's horrible uniforms was the decision making they obviated. Her panties and bra comprised the morning's only choices, and she was thankful for this.

She jumped into the shower, not bothering to shave the stubble her perverted teacher had inappropriately mentioned the evening before. She didn't bother to wash her hair, either. It was clean enough, she rationalized as she toweled off. She pulled a brush through it and pulled it into a messy ponytail. Luckily, messy was in style at the moment. Hair-sprayed, carefully arranged messy was preferable, but this would suffice.

The high school senior grabbed her book bag without packing a lunch first, and slammed shut the front door before bolting down the hall and several flights of metal stairs. She couldn't wait for the elevator: it was always in use in the morning. Sakura missed the 7:30 streetcar, however, despite her hurry. It wasn't rush hour yet, and the trains were on their early morning schedule. The next wasn't due for a half hour. The now quite late student ran the four kilometers to school, grateful for once for her gym teacher's drill sergeant demeanor. If nothing else, all of Mitarashi Anko students were physically fit.

Sakura bumped into Naruto as she flew up the stairs leading to the school's main entrance and fell to her knees with bone-jarring force. She didn't bother looking down. Her knees were scraped, no doubt. She already felt the trickle of blood.

"Idiot! Don't you know how to climb the stairs? Stay to the right! _Your_ right!"

Her backpack had spilled all over the front sidewalk, and she watched with embarrassment as the love struck student quickly picked her things up. He didn't make the expected crude joke as he picked up the several tampons she'd stowed in a clear zipper bag, but the boy was so dense he probably didn't know what they were. Still, she blushed as he handed back her belongings.

"I was wondering--" Naruto didn't finish, as he was overcome by a sneeze. He drenched her with a fine spray of body temperature droplets, presumably loaded with germs.

"God! Get away from me, idiot!" Sakura rushed into the building, even more conscious of the time. Naruto had no business being at school that early, unless he had morning detention. That was probably it. He was always getting into fist fights, particularly with Sasuke. It made a person wonder why he'd ever been accepted into the academy.

The blond had looked heartbroken when she yelled at him, but Sakura didn't care. The sooner Naruto learned she wasn't interested (as if there was the slightest possibility!) the better. Maybe then the fool would learn how much Hinata adored him.

Sensei was waiting for her when Sakura bounded up the last flight of stairs and into the wing of the school building that held his office.

"Late. That's five points off today's grade." Hatake made an annoying tsk-tsking noise. "Be right with you." He shut the door in her face, but not before throwing a box of tissues at her. She sat down and wiped the blood off her legs as she fumed. Already her morning was ruined, and it was all Sensei's fault. If he hadn't insisted on such an obscene hour for this class, she wouldn't have been late. Everyone knew teenagers' bodies were on a different schedule than adults. It was scientifically proven. To force a person to ignore her biological clock was just wrong.

Sensei was in his leathers when she arrived, suggesting that he hadn't been at the school long. Only a total creep would dock a student's grade for tardiness when he'd made the very same mistake. She didn't know what to think of him. The man ran hot and cold. At home he was nice to her: he'd been the perfect nurse the previous evening, for example, and kind enough to share his dinner with her. But at school he was another person, snarky and petty and rude. Which one was an act, she wondered.

"And where's your gear?" The door opened abruptly. He was wearing a different suit than the one she'd seen before, at least. This one was grey tweed, very professorial, and did not at all fit the image he'd put forth so far. It lacked suede elbow patches, but this was a good thing. Sakura wasn't sure she was ready for the full on, pipe-smoking academic look. She'd probably die laughing if he came to school like that.

"Huh?" Gear? She'd dropped her backpack off at her cubby, in anticipation of the field trip.

"Unprepared. That's another five points." Sensei grabbed a ring of keys from his desk and pocketed them. "Not to worry. I can access the supply room."

He shut and locked his office door after grabbing a huge duffel bag that leaned against the corner walls. "Let's get going."

"Where?" She still wasn't following him.

"I said we had a field trip this morning."

"Oh. Right." She'd completely forgotten. "Let me grab my gym shoes on the way out."

"Don't bother. Street shoes are fine. Although you should have brought your hakama." He patted the bag he carried with him.

"Where are we going? To the Konoha club? Or the Cedars?"

Hatake snorted. "Nothing that special." He held the door for her as they exited onto the lawn scattered the day before with melons. "Just over there." He pointed to the edge of campus.

"That's just the kyuudou dojo. That's not a field trip!"

"Did I get your hopes up? Sorry."

He was really annoying her. Worse, he knew it. And seemed to be enjoying it.

"Oh, by the way, you can't say that I'm unprepared for class today." Those five points were hers and she wasn't going to give them up easily.

"No? I told you to bring your hakama and gi. And your bow. And they are-- where, exactly?"

"I don't own any."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you do. All Konoha students do. Even I did. It's a key part of the curriculum."

He was right about this. Every student at the academy took archery twice, once in middle school and once in high school. Unlike other schools, Konoha Academy students started early, despite the danger of the sport. This was one reason the school made the national championship each year. The other was simply that by forcing every student to participate in training Mitarashi-sensei had a wide selection of students to pull into a team.

"Not me. In ninth grade I broke my arm. And I had a dislocated shoulder for the first part of seventh grade. I tore several ligaments and they had to do an open reduction." That was thanks to a horrible gymnastics accident involving the uneven bars. Mitarashi-sensei had never forgiven her for it.

Sensei raised an eyebrow.

"What? Didn't you read my medical file? You seem to know everything else about me."

"No, actually." He ran a hand through the unruly spikes covering his head. "Well, today you're going to learn."

"What does this have to do with math and physics?"

"Trajectories, of course."

"But we did that _yesterday_. And in ninth grade. When are we going to move on?"

Sakura would never address a teacher in this way. But Hatake-sensei was different. She didn't care what he thought of her. And she had already learned that sucking up didn't work with him. She smiled as she realized it was refreshing to be so open with her words.

"You know, even if I had the uniform and bow, they wouldn't fit by now. I've grown a lot since middle school."

"Have you?" He asked this dryly as he turned away from unlocking the dojo door to give her a once over. He paused at her breasts-- she was sure of it.

The question she'd had the night before when he commented on her unshaven legs was answered with a resounding "yes." The man _was_ a mini-Jiraiya, if not a full-blown specimen.

"I'll guess I'll need to find you a muneate," her pervert-sensei muttered as he slid open the heavy wooden doors on the other end of the shooting hall, then jumped down into the large grassy courtyard which separated this building from the one holding the targets.

He then disappeared into a side building, returning with a plastic wrapped bundle which he tossed at her as he reentered the main dojo.

"Get dressed, and be back here in five minutes."

Sakura headed to the women's locker room and unfolded the deep blue hakama and thick white gi Hatake-sensei had given her. It was stiff with sizing, like most new clothing, and smelled strongly of indigo. She dressed quickly, only giving herself a perfunctory look in the mirror. She kept on her white anklets as Sensei hadn't thought to provide her with tabi, and after folding her clothing neatly and placing it on a wooden bench, Sakura rejoined him in the main hall.

Again she'd kept him waiting, and she could sense her teacher's impatience. But it took women longer to get dressed then men. Everyone knew that.

"Here's an under glove. Should fit." Hatake tossed the scrap of white cloth at her. "And a Mitsubishi." he more carefully handed her the three-fingered leather glove, and she touched it gingerly.

"I am going to have to pay for all of this? Mitarashi-sensei--"

"Don't worry about it."

"Last time you said that I nearly ended up in Ibiki's tool shed."

"She owes me a couple of favors. And you're not going to put any wear into this stuff just by using it for an hour or two." He winked at her. Or maybe it was a blink. As his other eye was covered by a thick shock of hair, it was hard to tell.

"Now to find you a yumi." Sensei unlocked a supply closet and pulled out several graphite bows, sizing each up by holding it against her.

"Try this one. Let's see your draw." Noting her blank expression, he continued, "See how far back you can pull the string. No, not like that. Use the glove."

"I really don't--"

"Yes, I can see that," he said impatiently. "All this time at the school and you've never drawn a bow?"

"I told you."

"Hold it loosely, here," he pointed to the middle of the tool, "and use the ridge of the glove to hold the string as you pull back. "Further. Further. Seriously, Sakura, that's all you can do?"

He took the yumi from her and handed her another. "This one's lighter. Give it a try."

"Why are we doing this?"

"Physics. I already told you that."

"And what am I supposed to do?" She tried not to roll her eyes. It was stupid to think she'd be able to accomplish much as a rank beginner.

"Hit that target over there." He pointed to the concentric circles visible in the target house across the courtyard.

"Isn't that dangerous? Aren't the arrows sharp? I thought the first lessons in archery didn't even involve an arrow-- just pulling the string back over and over." That was what the kids in her class had said. That and how intensely boring it was to do so. "And once that's mastered, using a making." She'd heard groans of despair about that exercise, as well. It was impossible to miss the huge straw target when one was standing only a bow's length away. Another pointless exercise.

She pointed to the building across the courtyard to them, and to the targets within it. "Not a real mato, like that. Do you really expect me to hit it?"

"This isn't archery class--"

"It's not?"

"Quiet. There's no time to teach you the subtleties today. And it's only dangerous if someone gets hit. But no one's here and I'm standing behind you. There's little chance of you putting out my other eye."

It still seemed like a stupid idea. Long, boring years in school spent observing rather than actually learning had taught Sakura a lot. She'd found that a key sign of an experienced teacher was knowing when to quit. When a lesson ran aground it was best to stop paddling, get out and give the craft a good shove. But like any novice teacher, Hatake-sensei didn't know enough to give up. Despite the warning signs of imminent failure, he'd plod on until things were completely fouled up. Sakura sighed in resignation.

"So what do I do?"

"First of all, you need to stand correctly. Stand on the line, and turn so your left side faces the target. No. Not just your face. Your whole left side." He lifted an eyebrow at her muttered response. "And stand up straight."

_Yes, mother._

Sakura smirked and wished she had the guts to say this aloud.

"Now move your feet an arrow's length apart."

She complied. At least, she thought she did.

"You're doing it wrong. Here," he dropped to his feet and grabbed her right foot. "This far apart. Now turn your feet apart so that they're the legs of a sixty degree triangle." She turned her toes out. "That's 90 degrees, Sakura. This isn't dance class."

She felt like a marionette being manipulated by its puppeteer. Strange to have her teacher kneeling next to her and touching her. Sakura was fairly certain Mitarashi-sensei hadn't corrected each of her students' stances. Not until they joined the kyuudou team, anyway.

"So. Decided to stick with _au naturel_? Making a political statement?"

She wriggled her leg as she felt his hand graze the skin just above her ankle. Surely there was a rule against this somewhere in the teachers' handbook. Assuming there was such a book.

"I didn't have time, okay?"

_And what do you care, anyway? Idiot teacher._

"But you wore the anklets. That's nice." He sat back on his haunches as he directed her further.

"Now arch your back... good. And stick out your buttocks."

"My _what_?"

"Your ass, Sakura. Stick out your ass."

"Why?"

"To make sure the bowstring doesn't get caught on your hakama. Or hit your face."

"Oh." She reddened.

"Never mind. At ease."

"What?"

"Relax for a minute." Sensei crossed the room and retrieved the long duffel bag he'd carried to the dojo. He pulled out a yumi taller than him, and finely crafted in polished bamboo and leather. From many years of listening to Tenten talk about the sport, Sakura knew a bow of this type was quite expensive. The one Tenten wanted was 1000 ryo. The arrows Sensei pulled out were beautiful as well, adorned with brown striped feathers that resembled a hawk's. According to Sakura's friend, these could be as expensive as the bow. Most arrows used goose or duck feathers, readily available and easy to match. Raptor feathers, while more in keeping with the predatory spirit of the sport were hard to come by, given that those birds were protected.

Sensei must be fairly accomplished at the sport, Sakura realized. Either that, or he had a lot of spare cash lying around.

Her teacher moved through the motions he'd described to her and in a smooth motion, raised the yumi as he pulled back its bow-string, somehow managing to do so while holding another arrow between his fingers.

The arrow released with a twang, and the large yumi spun in his left hand, hitting his wrist with an audible thud. She looked out across the courtyard and squinted to see the target.

Bulls eye.

"Again. Don't worry about the arrow. Watch my hands, Sakura." Once more he moved gracefully, and the second arrow flew with as much precision as the first. Sensei stepped aside immediately, not even bothering to monitor the arrow's flight. But Sakura did. This one joined the first in the dead center of the mato.

"Your turn. Get into position." He sighed as she attempted a poor imitation of his stance. "Good enough. Now raise the yumi and sight your target. Draw an imaginary line back from it-- it should touch both feet." He stood behind her and peered over her shoulder. The warmth of him radiated against the nape of her neck like a coal pulled from a blazing fire. She found this fairly distracting, not to mention embarrassing, but Sakura willed her skin not to color in response. It would only feed his ego if he realized that he was having an effect on her.

She was glad she'd taken the time to shower, despite her rush that morning. The last thing she needed was for Hatake to tell her she stunk. From very recent experience she knew he wouldn't keep silent about such a thing. The man had no tact: he'd take perverse delight in pointing out such a flaw to her. Despite her efforts to control it, she felt a blush creeping up the back of her neck. Her body might be clean, but her hair certainly wasn't. Sakura hated the smell of unwashed hair. She pleaded to the god of misfortune-- a deity well known to her-- to forestall her teacher's senses for a while.

The unlucky student felt the rub of stiff fabric against her neck and knew said god was ignoring her. That was usual, of late. Sensei was even closer to her than before: she could feel his allergy mask. He leaned against her as he placed his hands over her own and guided her arms through the overly prescribed movements required to fire an arrow properly.

He had shifted into his gentle mode. His voice was soft, almost a purr which Sakura found quite unsettling. He probably was a pro with women. Just the sound of his voice would do it. He was certainly having an effect on her. Just his proximity was enough to set her heart pounding.

"Good. Do the motion again, nice and smooth. Draw the bow string to behind your ear. Don't forget your posture. Ass out, Sakura."

It was hard to remember to do all of this at once, but Sakura attempted. She tried hard, as suddenly she felt an urge to do well. To please him.

"Now get an arrow, and rest its end in the bow string as you pull it back."

She pulled an arrow from the canister next to her and nocked it, allowing him to guide her hands as she did so.

"Ah. Stop. We always fire male first."

"You just told me to go, didn't you?"

"Not _you_, the arrow. Use a male one."

"Huh?"

He pressed against her slightly as he took the arrow from her hand and held it upside down. She found she couldn't focus. He was crowding her to the point where her breathing had become irregular. She felt as though her senses were overloading.

"Look at the fletches. See how the feathers cup?" Sensei ran his fingers along the curved edge of the plain white feather. "This arrow is female, the other direction is male. Always shoot male, _then_ female.

Sakura didn't bother to ask "why." She knew the answer would be something stupid like "tradition." Instead she replaced the wrong-gendered arrow in its holder and pulled out the proper specimen, shaking her head at the stupidity of the practice. This distraction thankfully dispersed the feelings of unease-- and attraction-- she'd felt moments before, and she breathed easily again as her thoughts lingered on the great stupidity of archery. Who cared, really, what the arrow looked like? And who went to the trouble of sorting feathers into right leaning and left leaning groups? That was crazy. But so was the whole sport, in her opinion. Archery had been replaced by gun fighting for a very good reason. The latter was far more efficient, and apparently a whole lot easier.

Not that she'd ever seen a gun up close. Only police and thugs carried them.

Sakura nocked the new arrow efficiently. She had that part down, at least.

"Pull it as far as you can. That's it." Once more, Sensei's voice was a murmur in her ear. "Back straight, remember?" He stepped back, and she took that as her signal to release. The arrow flew, and its flight wasn't terribly wobbly, but she didn't notice. She had a more immediate problem to contend with.

"Shit!" She screamed as the released bowstring snapped against her chest with a resounding thunk.

She heard her sensei's surprised exclamation. "Oh! Right! The muneate. Don't go anywhere. Be right back."

As if she was planning on leaving the premises, doubled over in pain.

"Sorry I forgot this," Hatake-sensei said when he returned, leather protector in hand. "Men usually don't wear these."

"I have a question for you," Sakura said once she recovered enough to speak. "Are you planning to injure me every class? Is this the beginning of a trend?" She clutched her right breast and wondered how ugly the bruise would be. A long purple stripe, soon to turn greenish-yellow. Or maybe the string had broken her skin. A scar would be a fitting memento, she realized. Something tangible to keep her daily humiliations fresh in her mind. And to keep her hatred of him alive.

Her teacher chuckled. "You weren't injured yesterday. I pulled you out of the way of the trebuchet. And I even warned you. Here. Hold out your arms." He fastened the chest plate to her, strapping it securely behind her.

"I _did_ get hurt yesterday."

"Yes, but not during class. And sadly, your injury was due to your own misplaced curiosity."

"Only because you wear that stupid mask all of the time! You can't blame me for wondering about it."

Sensei simply shrugged in response. "Let's get back to the lesson." He was quiet for a moment as he gathered his thoughts, then he picked up his own bamboo yumi and removed its bowstring.

"Keep going. Fire at least ten more arrows." He crossed the room to replace his gear in its bag.

She could feel his eyes on her as she reached for another arrow, female this time.

"Is that the arm you broke?"

"No." She wriggled her left arm. "This one. This side is my bad shoulder."

"Looks like it healed well."

"Uh huh." She wished he would shut up so she could concentrate. Doubtless some part of today's grade would be based on how close she got to the target. Right now she was headed for an "F." She winced as the arrow veered sharply to the right missing the mato by at least 10 meters.

She found herself answering Sensei's questions, however. It was rare for anyone to focus their conversation on her. Chats with the girls usually focused around them. Being the center of attention was a novelty for her.

"Doctor said I was better than new, although I don't see how that's possible."

"He was probably just bragging."

"Yeah." She reached for another arrow and nocked this one more confidently. "But Chouji's not a braggart." Just immensely obese. "I don't see why his father would be."

"Like father, like son?"

"Yeah."

"That's not always true, you know."

"I'm just like my mom."

"I know."

She spun around. "What did you say?"

His back was to her. She noticed it stiffened slightly, but his voice was as unperturbed as usual.

"Lady Tsunade mentioned that to me. When we discussed me taking you on as a student."

"Yes." Sakura nodded. "She says that all the time. That I'm just like her-- a spitfire."

"I guess I'll take her word for it. But you know that a sample size of one isn't enough to make generalizations about the rest of humanity. Plenty of people are nothing like their parents." Sensei crossed the room to hand her a piece of paper.

"Here's your assignment. Practice a little longer and pay attention to the way the arrow moves on release. Then I want you to calculate the trajectory of the arrow, assuming it finds its way to the target. Then, the amount of time it takes from release to strike, and the number of revolutions it will make on the way. Then-- and this should be easier for you-- calculate how long it takes to hit the ground, say, halfway to the target. Be sure to factor in your height, the proper way of firing, and so on. And last, calculate the amount of force dissipated into the bow.

"What? How?"

"You're smart. You'll figure it out."

"Well, I'll need a ruler and a measuring tape and a spring scale and a protractor or some other way to measure angles and --"

I seem to remember we went through this yesterday."

"We--"

"Unprepared for class again. That's ten points. You can find almost everything you need in Mitarashi-sensei's desk over there." He pointed to an alcove at one end of the large space. "You'll have to improvise something for the measuring tape." He reached into his duffel bag. "Here's a spring scale."

"This isn't--"

"Fair? Of course it is. You've been a student for thirteen years, Sakura. Surely I'm not the first teacher to require you to come to class on time and prepared."

The high school senior fumed as she realized Hatake was correct.

But he'd said "field trip," the night before. Field trips were not supposed to be fact finding expeditions. They were supposed to be _fun_. She couldn't be blamed for leaving her binder behind. Really.

"You have thirty minutes. I'd get to work if I were you."

"Thirty minutes?" Her voice rose an octave mid question.

"To gather data. The dojo will be in use after that. The kyuudou club meets just before school, as I'm sure you know. You can do the calculations back in class."

"Fine. Whatever." Sakura crossed the room to the gym teacher's desk, slamming drawers open and shut for effect as she searched for the tools needed to collect her data.

It would be hard to make measurements on her own, but she was positive Sensei would dock her further points should she ask for his help. But how was she supposed to accurately measure the distance from the floor to her ear, for instance?" She trudged to the closest wall and leaned against it, marked its surface with a barely perceptible smudge, then moved her ruler end over end to measure its distance from the floor. With her luck she'd get caught and end up whitewashing the entire wall as punishment.

_I hate this man. I absolutely hate him._

She repeated this extemporaneous mantra just under her breath as she hurried to finish before time was up.

"Is there a standard measurement for kyuudou? For the distance between target and firing line, I mean?"

Hatake nodded. "Yes."

"And that would be...?"

Sensei shrugged, reached into his duffel for his paper-wrapped book and sat down on the porch running along the open side of the dojo.

"Why do you make things so difficult?" Sakura wanted to shriek this, but managed to keep her voice evenly modulated.

"Because life is difficult."

"This isn't life. It's school."

His belly laugh nearly sent her over the edge.

_Idiot._

"You are far too cynical for a seventeen-year-old, my dear."

"_Eighteen_. I'm almost eighteen."

"Whatever. Like two or three months makes a difference." He went back to his book, but she interrupted him.

"That was what, thirty years ago for you? Of course it makes a difference. You're just too old to remember what it was like." In three months she'd be old enough to vote, old enough to drive a car (assuming she could ever afford one), old enough to read any book she wanted, or buy alcohol, or--

"How old do you think I am, Sakura?" Hatake had shut the book and pulled himself up straight. The almost eighteen-year-old laughed silently as she realized she'd just found his Achilles' heel.

"Oh, fifty, I guess."

Sensei's dark brown eye widened at the suggestion.

"_Jiraiya_ is in his fifties." The idea of being lumped in with him must be slightly humiliating, Sakura guessed. Good. He deserved it.

"You're _way_ off." Well, of course she was. As if she could guess the age of a man who kept his face almost completely covered. Even in his own apartment. Weirdo. But she did have some idea of his age, from looking at yearbook photos. They were from seventeen years earlier. That put him at thirty-five or so.

"No younger than forty, " she offered, then twisted the knife. " But prematurely grey. How sad."

"Says the girl who dyes her hair pink."

"I don't _dye_ it!" Her eyes narrowed as she realized her teacher had goaded her successfully.

_Touché__, Sensei. _

He was definitely ahead in the game of understanding one's enemy.

"There's one way to find out, of course. About your hair."

"Which is?" She knew exactly what he was talking about. God, the man was a nasty hentai. She inwardly dared him to elaborate.

"Never mind. I know your hair is naturally that color. Jiraiya wouldn't allow it otherwise. And just so you know, he _is_ into the natural look." He glanced at her hakama as he spoke, but he didn't need to. Sakura got the message immediately. She'd be shaving her legs the minute she got home. The thought of that goofy-grinned senior citizen gawking at her made the teenager's flesh crawl. She wondered fleetingly if Jiraiya had installed peepholes-- or more technologically advanced tools-- to watch the girls in the locker room. She would need to warn Ino and the rest.

"Fifteen minutes left. I you finish early, I'll let you have a little break before going back to class."

"Really?" Sakura raced away to finish collecting her data, but not without hearing her teacher's rather loud chuckle.

"Done!" She cried several minutes later, and frowned to realize he'd already left. Sensei's duffel bag was gone, and as she looked out the dojo's front door, she noticed several hakama-clad students on their way down the hill from the school. She rushed into the locker room to change, and wadded her kyuudou uniform and glove into a ball before tucking it under her arm and running back to the main building. She'd ask sensei what to do with the hakama, gi and glove once her break was over.

She rushed into room 115-- homeroom-- and saw her friends clustered in their usual place at the back of the room. Ino was holding court, and she smiled as she saw Sakura enter. A loud voice stopped her moving closer, however.

"Are you going to the hop? You, Sakura Hah-runo." The grating, accented voice of Temari boomed across the room, causing every student to turn in Sakura's direction. Temari had been with them for two years now, one of three students from Suna at the school as a courtesy to their parents, visiting diplomats. She'd wanted in to the school's most exclusive little group from the beginning. Apparently she'd seized the opportunity Sakura's absence presented.

"What are you talking about?" Temari was sitting in _her_ place, Sakura noticed, right next to Ino. She wilted slightly as it dawned on her that it had taken her friends exactly 48 hours to replace her.

"The hop. It is dance tradition, yes?"

"You mean a _sock-hop_?" Sakura looked at the golden-haired beauty scornfully. "Like from sixty years ago?"

"Yes, that is it. Are not your socks from this time era?"

The girls surrounding her—_Sakura's_ friends-- laughed.

"All you need are some saddle shoes," Tenten added and the group broke out in giggles again. Not Hinata, but she rarely laughed. She wore the same vaguely concerned look as usual. Sakura looked to Ino for support. The de-facto group leader was her best friend, after all.

But the blonde completely missed (or worse, ignored) her friend's silent plea for support.

"Temari was just telling us about the mountains in her country. Year-round skiing, can you believe it? And she's offered to put us up at her house if we come to visit. I'm thinking graduation party! What do you think, Sakura?"

"Sounds great." Sakura smiled, convincingly she hoped. Not that she could ever, ever afford to fly first class to Suna. Assuming she was invited.

When had her friends ever said more than two consecutive words to Temari? She thought Ino hated the girl, and what Sakura's friend described as Temari's "nouveau riche" attitude. There was animosity between the Suna girl and Sakura as well. Her creepy brothers-- one of whom had actually asked Sakura on a date-- were the reason. Temari was offended on their behalf, and had responded sharply when Sakura explained that she wasn't into guys who wore make-up. Especially guys who got up before dawn to smear on layers of the stuff, as thick as clown-white, not that Sakura had added this. Kabuki might be a nationally revered art in their home country, but it didn't go over so well in this part of the world. Kankuro looked like a spoiled rich kid pretending to be the misunderstood emo playwright, in his solid black clothing and ever-present white gloves. And his brother? The boy seemed vaguely psychotic. Who tattooed big red words on their forehead, anyway?

"So, Temari, tell us about your house. How many bedrooms did you say it has?" The ever- cheery Tenten seemed completely infatuated by the group's new member. But Tenten had always been a joiner, going along with whatever the leader wanted.

"Well, the chalet has seven. It is very quaint, you know? It is decorated in the traditional folk patterns of the Suna people, so it is-- how do you say-- rustic? But perhaps you will also visit our home in the city. You will be surprised at how beautiful Suna City is in the spring."

Sakura crept away, although she might have made a ruckus. No one would have noticed. She hurried to the vestibule to grab her binder and texts from her cubby and headed up the stairs. At least she'd be early to the second portion of Sensei's class.

"Is something wrong, Sakura?"

_Hinata_ had noticed. The girl was shy and seemingly out of it, but the truth was she didn't miss much.

"I just miss you guys. This new class is eating up all of my free time."

Hinata touched her lightly on the arm. "We miss you, too."

"Yeah. I can tell."

"We're meeting after school today at the King's Row coffeehouse. Temari can't come." She winked at her friend. "Pep squad."

"Oh."

"S-say you'll come."

"Okay, I'll be there. Right after school gets out, as usual?"

"Uh-huh." Hinata disappeared into the crowd of students pushing through the hall like salmon swimming out to sea, and Sakura attempted valiantly to make her way against the rippling current.

Sakura arrived three minutes early at the classroom Sensei had reserved for them. She smirked in victory. No more points would be docked today. The large room was empty. She walked around it before choosing a desk three seats removed from the front of the room. That should be just enough distance to annoy her teacher. It really seemed silly to hold a class for one in a room this size. But Sensei was a silly man. That explained a lot, when one stopped to think about it.

Sakura opened her binder to a clean sheet of notebook paper, pulled a newly sharpened pencil from its case and waited. It didn't make sense to work on her calculations before he got back. If she finished early he'd likely assign her something else to do.

She waited ten minutes before feeling the first tremor of worry. They hadn't met here yesterday, as they'd been busy with the trebuchet, but this was the classroom listed on her registration slip. It would be like the man to change the meeting place and not tell her. Sakura jumped up with a start and set out to look for him. She walked past every classroom reserved for math and through the science wing as well, looking through the glass lights along each door as discretely as possible. She earned glares from several teachers for doing so, but hurried along, not giving them the chance to come to the door to reprimand her.

She found him in his office. The door was ajar, and from the murmurs she heard it was clear he wasn't alone. By standing off to one side, Sakura could see into the room, although the view was limited. A trouser covered leg was visible, along with one naked one. Or partially naked one. Anyway, it was female, shaved and well-tanned. Shapely, as well. It was elevated, presumably resting on the chair in which Sakura's sensei sat. And, she noticed with a start, placed squarely between his two legs.

Ugh. She recognized the slithery voice of her gym teacher.

"You owe me, Kakashi."

"If you say, so, Anko."

"I plan on collecting. Soon." Sakura glimpsed Mizarashi-sensei's hand. It was holding something white: an allergy mask.

"And what does that mean?"

"You know what that means." Sakura didn't think a voice could get much oilier than Anko's usual tone, but these words were unctuous, and full of innuendo. It was clear to Sakura, if not to her teacher what Mizarashi-sensei wanted.

"I'll stop by soon, okay?" Her voice dripped with something likely to be infectious.

Sakura didn't wait to hear the rest. She rushed back to the classroom and got to work on her calculations, not even looking up when a slightly rumpled Hatake-sensei strolled through the door. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that his tie was askew, and his shirt half untucked.

It was depressing to think the man had such poor taste in women.

Even first year middle schoolers talked about how skanky Mitarashi-sensei was. She dressed too sluttily for a gym teacher. Not like a hooker, mind you: she wore shorts or sweats-- low cut yoga pants, waistband folded over to expose her hips-- and a matching jacket. But the jacket was open to the waist, exposing a naked midriff and chest covered in a black net bra-top that was not meant to be outerwear. When she bent over or did a side lunge it was easy to see her nipples. The boys loved calisthenics as a result, and were overjoyed when she took the "skin" side in pickup basketball games after school.

She was competitive with the female students, as might be expected of someone who used her body as a tool. She singled out girls as early as middle school if she found them threatening. Ino was at the top of her list. The girl's blond beauty and easy popularity probably made Mitarashi-sensei insecure. Other students she seemed to choose randomly. Sakura was on the list, but not for her looks. Her hair and features were too irregular to be considered beautiful. She was attractive, nothing more, a B, maybe a B+ if one were giving out grades. Rather, Sakura's gym teacher had targeted her because of the gymnastics accident. She should have been spotting her student, but had looked away. And somehow she'd decided that Sakura's resulting fall was her own fault.

"Need any assistance?" Sakura looked up to see Hatake-sensei sitting opposite her.

"You'll charge me for any help, so I'm going to have to say 'no thank you.'"

She was sure he was smiling. The crinkled eye was the giveaway. "You're catching on. Good girl."

"That's insulting, you know."

"What is?"

"'Good girl.'"

"But you _are_ a girl."

"I'm not a dog."

"No one's calling you a bitch, Sakura." Sensei rose and returned to his desk at the front of the room, leaving his student in peace.

She finished her calculations easily, and turned in a neat, five-page document ten minutes before the end of class. Sensei nodded as she placed it on his desk, and looked up when she lingered.

"Yes?"

"What should I do with the kyuudou gear?"

"You didn't leave it at the dojo?"

"No. Where would I have put it?"

"Just hang on to it. I'll make things right with Mitarashi-sensei."

"Yeah. I'm sure you will."

"What?" A brown eye widened.

Had she actually said that aloud? Sakura winced. "I said I'm sure you will. You're obviously a very persuasive person. And creative, too."

That was a bit too much. She'd had him for a second or two, but a wave of incredulity was now breaking over the small exposed portion of his face.

"Nobody likes eavesdroppers, Sakura. For homework, page 23 exercises 1-50, odd. Dismissed."

The rest of the day passed quickly, although each of her other teachers seemed to think they were their students' only instructor. Sakura stooped under the heavy load of books and binders stuffed into her backpack. She'd have time to do the work later: she'd stay up late if necessary. She was thrilled to be able to spend some time with her small circle of friends. She had a lot of work to do to make up for Temari's admittance to the group.

"I'll be right back," she called as the trio waited for her at the door. "I need to grab my math book. I must have left it upstairs." Ino, Tenten and Hinata weren't waiting for her when she returned five minutes later, but that wasn't surprising as the coffeehouse filled quickly and Sakura had taken longer than expected. She had to plead with Iruka-sensei to open the classroom where she'd had lessons with Hatake, as _that_ man was nowhere to be found. Thankfully the book was where she'd dropped it.

Sakura rushed outside, coat in her arms and hurried down the school's main path. She broke into a run when she felt the first sprinkle of rain. It was only a five minute walk to the cafe: if she hurried she'd get there without getting soaked.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Grounds keeper Ibiki loomed in front of her, his large frame completely blocking her path. He held his rake rather menacingly considering it was a common garden tool, and a shiver shot down Sakura's spine.

She'd been afraid of the man since she arrived at the academy, despite her parents' protestations that he was a nice man. One shouldn't judge people by appearances, they always said. But like any preteen, she had. On a couple of occasions, she'd been in the vicinity when Ibiki pulled the rag from his scalp to wipe the sweat from his brow. His head was crisscrossed in ugly scars, as though he'd walked through a fire, or been partially scalped. How could one not be frightened of such a severe appearance?

"I'm sorry-- is there something you need? Sensei?" she amended quickly. He wouldn't appreciate a lack of respect.

"You trashed my lawn. Yesterday. Who gave you permission to run heavy equipment over it?"

"I--"

Hadn't Hatake-sensei said he would take care of this? And what was Ibiki thinking? A student couldn't get access to the school's lawn tractors, let alone trebuchet.

"Sensei--"

"I don't take kindly to vandals. Come with me."

He was as intimidating as ever.

Sakura meekly followed the hulking gardener to the small outbuilding and attached greenhouse that served as his office and storage area. It was stifling inside, due to the heaters running at full blast.

"I'd make you reseed the lawn and aerate it too, but it's the wrong time of year. You can re-pot these instead." He pointed at tray after tray of seedlings sitting on the long benches occupying the greenhouse. They were starts for the school's spring landscaping, she guessed.

"The pots are here, and the soil here. Be gentle and don't bury their leaves." His glare suggested what might occur if his precious plants were mangled. "I'll be outside if you need me."

Sakura did a quick count before sitting down on a stool opposite the benches. One hundred fifty plants. That would take hours to complete.

_Idiot. Idiot sensei._

She got to work, glad of the room's heat, considering the torrential rain outside. She only looked up when she heard the roar of a motorcycle. Its rider pulled up a few meters from the greenhouse, just under one of the ornate street lamps that decorated the school's main path. Sakura wouldn't have been able to see him otherwise. Between the rain, and the dark, and the fact that the greenhouse was more brightly lit than any nearby structures, it was difficult to see much outside. But if it were dark outside, the greenhouse must look like a beacon. Its occupants must be as brightly lit as actors on a television screen.

It _was_ Sensei, and Sakura was surprised to see Ibiki rush out to talk with him. Hatake left immediately after, and his student felt a wave of resentment. He should have gotten her out of this punishment. It was his idea, not hers to use the trebuchet, and his idea to fling melons over a beautifully manicured playing field. He should be the one dirtying his nails with potting soil, not her. She didn't have time for this. She had friends to meet and hours of homework to do.

She'd give him a piece of her mind tomorrow. Teacher or not, he had no right to treat her this way. And if he didn't listen, she'd take it up with Tsunade. The headmistress couldn't know what was going on. She'd never allow it.

Despite her simmering anger Sakura managed an ingratiating smile an hour later when Ibiki came in to release her from her punishment. She offered her deepest apologies too, lest he find another three hour task for her to do. It was already six-thirty. The cafe would be gone and the the girls long gone, probably wondering why she'd stood them up. No doubt her outsider status was now firmly secured. The pink-haired student wished for a cell phone as she pulled on her coat and headed out into icy rain. She'd call on a pay phone when she got closer to home, but Ino probably wouldn't answer. She'd be miffed, and in such situations tended to ignore the offender for days. A text might do the trick, but without a cell couldn't be managed. And Ino wouldn't reply to an email, however sweetly worded. Not that Sakura owned a computer.

There was no street car, of course, and in the winter dark she felt less safe than usual. She had the feeling she was being watched-- or followed-- although there were no other pedestrians in the area. She was alone apart from the steady procession of vehicles on their homeward commute. Their headlights bathed her intermittently in halogen light, but this only served to make the dark around her seem blacker. She couldn't shake her feeling of unease. Sakura ran the several kilometers home, only stopping to swear vehemently when a truck rushed past, spraying her with water that hadn't made it into a debris-clogged sewer. She was totally soaked-- even the uniform under her coat was sodden, and Sakura was thoroughly chilled by the time she made it home. She didn't wait for the bathtub to fill: she jumped into the shower and stood under its comforting spray until the water ran cold.

She was too exhausted for homework, to go outside again to find a pay phone, or to dry her hair before climbing into the comfort and warmth of her duvet-covered bed. She decided to worry about Ino's ire and her status within the school's most sought-after clique tomorrow. At the moment she'd rather think of more pleasant things. Sakura fell asleep quickly, in the midst of plotting her revenge. Next time she saw Sensei she was going to kill him. There was no doubt that this was the only reasonable thing to do.


	5. Detente

**To Sensei, with Love**

**Chapter 5--Detente**

Sakura awoke to the unnerving feeling that she was in a strange place. She could tell even before she opened her eyes that something was wrong, although this feeling was in no way a product of her intellect. Rather, a creeping, unsettling sensation enveloped her-- the feeling that she was in a completely new location. She opened her eyes carefully to assess this new environment.

The first thing she noticed was that the crack in the ceiling was not hers. The ceiling was similar: it was coated in the same rough popcorn texture, faintly dusted by age that littered her own ceiling, but the crack in her room ran from window to closet wall, not in the perpendicular direction. The second thing Sakura noticed was the bed. Its mattress was far more comfortable than her own sagging one. And the linens covering her were smooth and cool against Sakura's skin, a far cry from the threadbare set that sat upon her own bed. The duvet was navy and white, woven in a blurred edge manji pattern that reminded her of pinwheels or the throwing stars used by ninja in the manga her male classmates read.

Sakura pressed the indigo-woven fabric close to her face and breathed deeply. She furrowed her brow as she tried to place a fragrance she was sure she's smelled before. It wasn't an offensive scent-- the slightly acrid smell of indigo was long gone from the fabric, indicating this duvet was old, perhaps treasured. On the contrary, the fragrance lingering among its threads was one of those scents that caused a person to inhale deeply and savor the subtleties of the aroma. It was a musky, masculine fragrance, like those expensive men's colognes found at the cosmetics counter of Konoha's finest department store. Something a well-off businessman or clotheshorse might use to anoint himself.

She knew several well-off businessmen, Ino and Hinata's fathers to be specific. But she'd visited their homes. Even their maid staff had nicer bedrooms than this one. Sakura's brow furrowed again as she puzzled through the limited possibilities open to her.

If she wasn't in her own bed, where was she? Or more to the point, in _whose bed _was she? Sakura bolted upright, then sank back into the blankets as the walls and windows spun around her in a nauseating circuit.

Ugh. Maybe she'd been poisoned. What was that stuff sleazy men put in the drinks of their unsuspecting dates-- rohypnol?

But she hadn't gone out drinking the night before. Hell, she'd never even been to a nightclub.

Sakura gripped the sheets under her and held on tightly until the room came back into a clear, unmoving focus. Then she turned her head carefully to continue her survey of the environment.

This bed was bigger than hers, a king-size that almost filled the room. The only other object of furniture was a scratched maple dresser, one quite familiar to Sakura as her own bedroom contained a similar piece . The terrace window was covered in horribly dated vertical blinds, again familiar, and the light fixture above her was a cheap fluorescent one, its circular lamp housed in a wooden box.

It was almost her room, she realized-- just a barely more refined iteration.

This must be Sensei's place. But what on earth was she doing there? In his bed? Sakura shuddered for a moment as she considered several unsavory possibilities. She dismissed them immediately as far too ludicrous, and likely a symptom of whatever it was that was making her dizzy. Instead she screwed her eyes shut as she tried to recall any information that might help her make sense of things.

She vaguely remembered someone calling, "Sakura! Are you there?" although at the time she

thought this was just another part of the wild, fevered series of dreams she'd been experiencing all night. The image shifted as she heard the sharp cracking and splintering of wood: suddenly she was in a forest amid falling trees. A moment later she was back in her room, and an unfamiliar man was standing in her doorway.

She didn't jump in fright when she saw him. Her brain appeared to be working too slowly to permit that kind of reaction. Instead Sakura's mind noticed the oddest things about this intruder, small details that were of little importance.

He was handsome. And he'd yelled at her. Something about missing school. There was mud on his trouser cuffs which meant he'd undoubtedly tracked some into her home. For a moment of this dream Sakura wasn't sure whether she should be more angry at the mess he'd likely made of her carpet or of the fact that he'd invaded her privacy.

The next thing she remembered was a pillow soft bosom and the familiar voice of Lady Tsunade. Her voice was angry although she stroked her student's back the entire time she spoke. Obviously she was annoyed at someone other than Sakura.

No other memories trickled forth to accompany these brief images. Apparently this was the extent of Sakura's recall.

Tsunade had visited Sakura exactly twice before: once to deliver the news that her parents were gone, and a second time to make sure she was settled into her new apartment. Sakura didn't blame her for the paucity of interaction: Lady Tsunade was a very busy woman. Sakura was lucky to have her as a guardian of sorts. But for Tsunade to visit, something big must have transpired.

The pink haired girl attempted to climb out of bed, but the room spun again.

"Don't move."

It was Sensei, she realized as the room reoriented. He looked a bit haggard, as though he'd spent the night partying. It was his hair, she realized. It stood straight up, as though he'd slept on it funny. And the one eye she could see had a dark ring beneath it.

"Why am I here?" She ignored his command and pulled herself upright in bed, doing the best to ignore the spinning and swaying of the room, which was refusing to cooperate with her.

"You don't remember?" Sensei shrugged. "Well, I guess that's not surprising. Are you thirsty?" he moved toward the bed after grabbing a water-filled carafe and glass from the dresser.

"Yeah." She accepted the glass gratefully, suddenly aware of the dryness of her throat and lips.

"So what happened?" she asked after downing the contents of the glass and holding it out for a refill."

"Flu. That's what Shizune said. A particularly virulent strain, apparently."

Sakura's brow darkened. "Naruto!"

"What about him?"

"He sneezed all over me yesterday." She didn't hide the disgust she felt at the memory.

"No, not _yesterday_. And he's at school as far as I know."

"Oh." It was easy to blame the blond, Sakura realized. Somehow Naruto became her scapegoat after arriving at the school. Perhaps this was because of the love triangle in which he'd included her. It was completely unrequited on her part, of course, but still. It was rage-inducing to watch him fall all over _her_ when Hinata was standing a meter or so away. They'd be perfect together, if only he'd realize it.

"There are a few others out. Not enough to close the school, but..."

"Do they have babysitters, too?"

Hatake-sensei lifted an eyebrow. "No. They have _family_. Lady Tsunade was worried about you when you didn't show up at school."

"So she sent you? Or was she there, too?"

"Both. She came later, once I had you settled."

"But why am I _here_?"

"Here?" Sensei scratched his head. "I... broke your door down."

Sakura's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Don't worry. The custodian boarded up the entrance for now, until the new door arrives. Special order. Odd size or something."

Great. Just great. Another expense she couldn't afford. She had no idea how much a new door might cost, but it couldn't be cheap.

"You're an idiot. What did you think? That I'd been kidnapped or something?"

Sensei's expression changed momentarily. And when he replied to her outburst his voice seemed unnaturally calm.

"You're the one who doesn't have a telephone. Every teenager on _Earth_ has a cell phone."

"Well, Sherlock, maybe I can't afford it. It's not my fault I don't have one."

The pale-haired teacher pulled a small silver object from his pocket and tossed it at her. "Now you do."

"You're giving me your phone?"

"I'll get another. Don't lose it, though. It was pretty expensive."

It certainly looked it. Even Hinata and Ino didn't have phones as thin or sparingly elegant, and with a slide-out keyboard for text. Just wait until her friends saw it--

"Hungry? You haven't eaten in two days."

"Two days?"

"You were delirious. It took a lot to get your fever down. You sweated through your clothes several times."

Sakura blushed with embarrassment as she noticed the night gown she was wearing was not the one she'd worn to bed.

"Did you..."

"Tsunade took care of it--"

Sakura tried not to sigh in relief.

"--the first time," he continued. And I took you to the bathroom a few times."

Sakura was sure Sensei was smiling under the silly navy-blue and white bandanna he wore.

"You don't remember?"

"God, no."

How humiliating.

Sakura sank back into the bed and shut her eyes tight. Maybe if she wished hard enough Sensei would disappear and the nightmare of this new semester would end. Perhaps she'd open her eyes and find that all of this had been a horrible dream. Her world would go back to the way it was only days before: a world where she was surrounded by friends and fully enjoying a very lazy senior year.

The god of misery must have been perching on Sakura's shoulder, however, intent on showering her with his own peculiar brand of attention. When the high school senior opened her eyes nothing had changed.

She shut them again as tears began to flow. She couldn't staunch them, however. The dam had burst.

"Sakura?" There was concern in Sensei's voice.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Doing what?"

"Why are you ruining my life?" This came out as a whine, a terrible bleat of self-pity.

The bed creaked as Sensei sat down beside her, and she heard the low chuckle of his laugh.

"You think I'm torturing you? Punishing you?"

He was actually laughing at her. Bastard.

Her eyes flew open. "Yes! Exactly. You'll do something really nice, and follow it with something amazingly..._mean_! I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. You just gave me a cell phone, and you took care of me. What will you want in return? A pound of flesh?"

"You're wrong. Completely wrong."

"Then enlighten me, o wise one." She fairly spat the words.

"Let me get you something to eat, first." Sensei stood and regarded her critically. "By the way, what _do_ you eat? I couldn't find anything but cup ramen in your kitchen."

"So?" It wasn't Sakura's fault that the cheap, instant noodle dish was the backbone of her diet. She couldn't afford good food.

"It's crap. No vitamins. Just starch, man-made fat and salt. No wonder you got sick. Your resistance must be abysmally low."

"I'm not really hungry." In truth, she was. But she had no desire to add to her debt.

"You have to eat. Miso soup? Everyone likes that."

"I'd prefer chicken." This was said just to be ornery.

"Chicken it is, then. I made some stock yesterday, just in case."

"You've been here the whole time? You missed school just for me?" Her eyes narrowed. This made no sense.

Sensei leaned over her and placed a refreshingly cool hand on her forehead.

"You're still feverish. Why don't you close your eyes for a while? I'll bring the soup in when it's ready."

* * *

Shizune was sitting by her side when Sakura woke again. She was taking Sakura's pulse, in fact, and had her stethoscope at the ready.

"Ah. Back from the dead." She gave Sakura a nurse's smile as she warmed the stethoscope against the hem of her sweater. "Sit up. Now breathe in, nice and deep. Again."

Sakura complied, grimacing as she did so. The room wasn't spinning as much as it had earlier, but it hurt to take such deep breaths. Especially when Shizune kept asking her to do so even more deeply. Then, to make things worse the nurse began tapping carefully on Sakura's back. The student closed her eyes and wondered if she had dreamed her conversation with Hatake-sensei. But no, this had to be his room. She was definitely still within her own apartment building.

She was feeling worse than this morning, if that were possible. As though a weight lay across her chest. Or more, accurately, inside it, blocking the path of oxygen into her lungs.

"If it was flu, it's not now. You're lucky I'm a nurse practitioner and can treat this. Have you been having chills?"

Sakura shook her head. Although she was feeling terribly cold right now. She pulled the blankets more closely around her as she sank back into the warmth of the bed.

"But it hurts when you breathe."

The pink-haired student nodded.

"What have you been doing with yourself, Sakura?"

"I got caught in the rain." And that was entirely Sensei's fault.

"That won't get you sick. It'll just give you a chill. Maybe lower your resistance, but only a tad. Have you been running yourself ragged?"

Well, Hatake-sensei had.

"Where _is_ Sensei?" He'd promised her some soup, hadn't he?

"Hatake-san? School." Shizune responded to Sakura's blank stare with a further explanation. "He has afternoon classes to teach, remember?"

"Oh. Right."

"You're lucky he stopped by your apartment. You had a 40 degree fever by the time Tsunade-sama and I arrived."

"That's bad."

"It's only good if you're hoping for brain damage."

"He broke my door down." Not that Sakura had a complete recollection of this, but she thought it worth mentioning. It illustrated just what a lunatic the man was.

Shizune chuckled. "He has a tendency to overreact at times. But to be honest, Tsunade-sama was worried about you and sent him running. You never miss school, unlike some."

Sakura had known her compulsiveness when it came to attendance would come back to bite her on the butt. But truthfully, she was lucky to lead such a predictable life. Because of it, Shizune and Tsunade had found her, after all.

"So naturally she worried. Plus," Shizune fluffed the pillows behind Sakura, "she's feeling a little bit guilty about you."

"She is?"

"Absolutely. That's why he's here."

"Who?"

"Hatake-san."

"Isn't he here because Gai-sensei...uh, left?"

"Well, that too. But Tsunade hired Kakashi--"

"Kakashi? _Scarecrow_?" Sakura found herself on the verge of laughter. What an extraordinarily appropriate name for the crazy-haired, lanky teacher.

"She hired Hatake-san because he has a broader and greater depth of knowledge than most teachers." Shizune sounded like a job announcement.

"Which he makes up for by having pathetically poor knowledge of teaching practices." Sakura rolled her eyes. "He's a slave driver, Shizune. Seriously!"

The dark haired woman smiled. "But that's at Tsunade-sama's request."

Sakura leaned forward in bed to grab the retreating woman's arm. "What do you mean?"

"I've probably said too much. Sorry."

"No! That's completely unfair! You can't let something like that slip and expect me to let it lie there." The coughing fit that ensued worked to her favor. Shizune's alarm was evident in the way she rushed to Sakura's side.

"You are as persistent as ever. Fine." She motioned for Sakura to lean forward as she sat down beside her. As she talked she moved her hands across Sakura's back, then side, in an odd drumming motion. Even more odd, it felt good. The student's next few coughs were productive, and Sakura felt it much easier to breathe as a result.

"Tsunade-sama feels guilty, like I said before. She feels that she's left you on your own too much. And that it's been unnecessarily difficult for you. So she's wanted to do something to make it better. It's been obvious to her that Konoha Academy's course offerings weren't enough for you. She has high expectations for you, Sakura. So she brought in... an expert, I'd guess you'd call him. She hired Hatake-san specifically to meet your needs, to make sure you weren't spinning your wheels final semester."

Sakura snorted, then lost herself if another bout of painful coughing

"Some expert," she said finally. "We've been doing Newtonian physics and nothing else. It's so boring."

"Really? I always enjoyed physics. Although we never got to play outside."

"Well, the trebuchet was okay. And the archery was, too. But he spoils it every time."

"How so?"

"He makes unreasonable demands of me."

"Like?"

"Like expecting me to figure everything out on my own."

"I hate to break this to you, Sakura, but that's the hallmark of a good teacher."

Sakura pulled the blanket over her face. "If that's all you have to say about Tsunade's big secret, then fine."

"Tsunade-_sama_. Show some respect."

"Yeah. Sama," Sakura said in a muffled voice.

Shizune tore back the covers forcefully, and Sakura was surprised to see an angry spark in the school nurse's usually placid eyes.

"Stop it. You have no right to act so cynical."

"That's the second time I've heard that."

"Because it's true!"

"Sensei said the same thing." Maybe he was right after all, Sakura realized. If she trusted anyone's opinions, it was Shizune's. The woman saw no need to dissemble, and never did. She even stood up to Tsunade on the woman's most hungover days.

"Tsunade-sama went out of her way to hire the best-- for _you_-- and you don't even appreciate it. You wouldn't believe the hoops she had to jump through to get Hatake-san released from his previous job. And the man-- damn it, Sakura, he just about saved your life! You're lying here with pneumonia and you have no idea how close you might have come--" Shizune's voice broke and she turned away.

Pneumonia? Sensei said it was flu. No wonder she felt so god-awful.

"I'm sorry."

"You think that because you've lost your parents you have to be an adult. But really, I don't think you know what an adult is. It's not someone completely closed off from others, who sees the world in purely practical terms. But that's what you've become, isn't it? Cynical Sakura who thinks life is a game with a hidden set of rules. That success is as easy as getting the highest test score. God, where's your spirit? You didn't use to be like this."

Shizune wasn't angry any more. Her expression had softened into something resembling pity, and Sakura found herself shocked by the emotion.

She wasn't a person to be pitied. She was strong and self reliant, wise to the ways of the world, resourceful, popular and envied.

She felt tears slipping out before she could stop them.

"Hungry?"

Sakura shook her head vigorously, and immediately regretted it. The room spun ever so slightly in response to her head movement. Not as bad as earlier in the day, but enough to make her grimace in discomfort.

Shizune busied herself in rearranging the pillows she'd attended to only minutes before, steadfastly ignoring the girl's tears as she knew that was what Sakura wanted. Shizune had always been sensitive to others' needs. She was wasted as a school nurse attending to scraped knees and monthly maladies. How much better she'd be in a place she was truly needed, Sakura thought.

The nurse patted her leg and left the room, but returned with a half-filled glass, giving Sakura just enough time to collect herself.

She smiled as she offered her charge the container, then handed her two white pills.

"Antibiotics. You don't have the symptoms of viral pneumonia. If this doesn't do the trick in a couple of days we'll take you to a specialist."

Sakura swallowed the pills, washing them down with the juice Shizune had provided, and lay back in bed.

"I need to get going. I have a pig to walk and feed."

"You must have the most easygoing landlord in all of Konoha."

Shizune giggled, an unprofessional laugh that made her seem younger than usual. "I just might. Will you be okay by yourself until Hatake-san gets home?"

"Sure. I'll just sleep."

"Good idea." Shizune flipped the light switch on her way out, and Sakura lay in the gathering twilight. She was tired: her body ached, her head still hurt and her ribcage felt like it was confined within a corset. But she couldn't sleep. Shizune's words still stung.

When had she become such a negatively-minded person? Like every child she'd once faced each morning with joy and determination. But this year and the last were all about succeeding, about shoe-horning herself into the corporate world, about starting her climb on the ladder of success that had its lowest rungs in high school.

It was important to be a success, wasn't it? She had no one to fall back on if her dreams went south, no safety net of extended family or even a nuclear family of a mom and dad to catch her if she stumbled. Of course she'd become this way. It was too frightening not to.

* * *

The room was dark, Sakura noticed, suggesting she'd dropped off again. How funny to sleep the day away and awake more tired than before.

The only illumination in the room was that cast by the small lamp standing at the very end of the dresser, its shade directing the light downward into an insignificant pool that lit only a portion of the space. It was enough however, for Sakura to notice that Sensei had rejoined her. He was sitting at the foot of the bed, and he looked even more tired than he had that morning. His hair stood straight up in places and his posture was slump-shouldered. The paper-covered book that seemed to accompany him everywhere was by his side, opened face down on the bed. Sensei hadn't noticed she'd awakened. He was in the midst of a cell phone conversation, although it was difficult to get the gist of the conversation from hearing only his end. His replies were monosyllabic. The mobile, she noticed was different from the one he'd tossed at her that morning. This one was thin and black, but otherwise the twin to the silver one.

Who carried two cell phones? A two-timing boyfriend did, to ensure that one girlfriend didn't check the phone history or contacts of the other. Maybe Sensei was a playboy. He didn't seem the type, however. Sakura's teacher seemed far too lazy to juggle two women full time. She doubted he even dated much. That would require a modicum of discipline.

Interestingly, Sensei's face was uncovered, confirming that the man Sakura had seen in her feverish dream was actually him. She noticed the strength of his profile when he pushed the hair from his forehead. His nose was straight, its tip the slightest bit pointy. His cheekbones were well defined, although he wasn't gaunt, and his lips looked... kissable.

Sakura frowned at the thought. It must be the fever that was making her feel that way. As if she'd ever consider kissing a teacher. Let alone this one, the bane of her existence.

Or maybe it was Shizune's fault. The way she described Sensei made it seem as though his negative actions were on behalf of Tsunade. Maybe he was the kind person he sometimes appeared to be. If that were the case, Sakura would almost want to know him.

Sensei must have noticed she was awake, using that eyes-in-the-back-of-the-head vision bestowed on teachers. He turned toward her quickly as he ended the conversation.

"Speaking of whom. Gotta go."

He slid the phone shut, and for the first time Sakura was greeted by his smile.

It was toothy, although not predatory, the real type of smile one sees when a person is happily surprised.

"You look much better."

Although she certainly did not feel better, Sakura didn't reply. She was too busy staring at Sensei's face.

He was so very handsome. He certainly couldn't be called gorgeous, but he was attractive in a masculine, rugged way. He was quite unlike like the effeminate bishounen gracing the covers of the shoujo manga Hinata read, or the over-muscular centerfold in the magazine Ino had blithely purchased at an adult book store, then shared with the female portion of their class (and a couple of the guys). No, his good looks were real, and therefore subtle. The only vivid feature of his face was the the scar bisecting one side. It alone looked like something from a romance novel, and like the scars on those hyper masculine heroes, it didn't disfigure, but instead suggested its wearer was a man with a past, someone dangerous.

Of course, looks were often deceiving. Sensei was a math and science teacher, not a man of adventure. The only thing exciting about him was the bike he rode.

It probably wasn't even his.

Sensei caught on to her continued silence after a minute or two. Sakura laughed aloud as a red tinge crept over his face, indicating that he had realized exactly why she was staring at him. He turned away abruptly, only facing her again once a sad-looking bandanna was festooned across his still blushing visage.

"Why bother?" Sakura asked. "I've seen your face already. Why keep it a mystery?"

"Germs."

The teenager laughed again, this time with full on mirth. His mask-wearing was all about some phobia?

"If you were going to get sick, wouldn't it have happened by now?"

"No. I've been very careful."

"You're a little bit crazy, aren't you?"

Sensei's brow creased, indicating this arrow had met its target. As she was very pleased with this small success, Sakura couldn't help but continue.

"You're not one of those people who washes his hands two hundred times a day, are you?"

Her teacher's shoulders drooped. "You're calling me obsessive-compulsive. That's just great. A perfect reward for taking care of you these past few days."

His slightly passive aggressive volley hit home. Sakura's reply was appropriately meek. "Actually, I really do appreciate it. Tsunade really let you miss work?"

He barked a sharp laugh. "No. Not at all. Lady Tsunade would never let that happen. But my morning classes are with you, so it seemed reasonable that I stay here to take care of you."

"Shizune said you saved my life."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Thank you." She meant it, she realized. She really did.

Sensei didn't deserve her constant ire. He was only doing his job. And if, as Shizune suggested his riding of her was at Tsunade's request, Sakura owed him an apology.

"Hungry?"

Sakura nodded as she realized she was indeed famished, and was pleased to realize that dizziness she'd experienced earlier in the day was finally gone. She felt horrible still, but perhaps the worst had passed.

This thought was contradicted by a sudden fit of coughing.

She fell back against the bed once she was done, exhausted.

"Let me get your soup."

Sensei left the room and Sakura sat up in bed, carefully arranging the bedding around her. The nightgown she was wearing was a thin one. It was made of nylon tricot, and was once fuzzy all over, but now worn thin in places. She wondered how much of her body he might have glimpsed over the past two days.

"Miso soup, just the way you wanted."

"I asked for chicken. I _know_ I did."

"Kidding. It's chicken. Can't you smell it?"

Sakura breathed in deeply and was rewarded with the golden, mouth warming smell of homemade broth. Sensei carefully handed her a mug of this elixir of health, and his student eagerly sipped it.

As she drank a memory floated to the surface of her mind, a comforting remembrance of another sickbed, this one tended by her mother, with occasional, always entertaining visits from her dad.

Her mom had cooked soup like this, full of flavor and in her case, quiet devotion. She would take the day off from school and sit quietly with her daughter, embroidery in her lap. Whenever Sakura stirred she'd feel her mother by her side, the woman's patience seemingly unending.

And here Sensei was, doing essentially the same thing.

"I'm sorry I was snotty before. I really do appreciate you taking care of me." It wasn't quite like spending a sick day with her mom, but it would do. Nicely.

He didn't have to do this. He could stay in his living room while she lay here alone. But he didn't. He chose to remain close, germs and all.

Sensei didn't reply. He'd picked up his book while she was eating, and seemed fully engrossed by it.

"I _said_, I'm sorry."

He waved his hand dismissively, still not looking up from his book. "Drink."

She did, draining the mug of broth quickly.

"So, Sakura. What do you want out of life?"

Where did that question come from? Sakura regarded her sensei quizzically as he took the empty mug from her.

"I thought we were going to talk about why you're ruining my life. You promised me, this morning."

"Ah, but two are related."

"Huh?"

"Excellent rejoinder. I'll get to your request, promise. But since you're in my house, in my bed, eating my food you should answer my question first. It's only polite."

She'd humor him, Sakura decided. It was the least she could do, given his hospitality. Even if Tsunade had ordered him to take care of her, he'd done it graciously.

"I don't know. What I want out of life. I mean, unless you're asking what I'm planning to do as a job. _Career_."

"They're not exactly the same--" Sensei began.

"I'm planning on business. I'd like to get my MBA and become a manager in one of the big corporations downtown."

"Ah. Why?"

"What do you mean, 'Why?' You sound like Shizune. Are you going to tell me I have no spirit, next? That I'm aiming too low?"

"Well, you don't seem to have..."

"The skill set? That's why I'd go to business school. To learn how."

"Why business?"

"Because it's a lucrative field. I'll make good money as a manager."

"So it's about money."

Sakura felt her hackles raise.

"It's _always_ about money. It's only the rich who are able to pretend that isn't true. You said you went to school on scholarship. So you should understand."

"I do, actually. You worry about making ends meet from month to month. You haven't had to get a job, have you? But the insurance money you get each month isn't quite enough."

"How do you know about the insurance money?"

"The school wouldn't have employed your parents without a policy, Sakura. Your parents might have bought one but the school takes one out on every employee, just in case. Standard practice."

Sakura frowned. She hated that the details of her life were so routine, its twists and turns so predictable to him.

"Did they leave you anything else?"

Sakura snorted. "You mean like a trust fund? My mom was a secretary, and my dad was the school janitor. There wasn't much left over each month, you know? It was all they could do to send me to the Academy." She touched her neck and ran her finger down a fine gold chain to pull out a locket.

"This was the only thing of value they left. Well, they gave it to me _after_ they died. It came in a package the day I heard about their death. They'd sent it while they were on their second honeymoon. For their twentieth wedding anniversary..." Her voice trailed off. She didn't want to remember.

"May I see it?"

Normally she kept the locket close. She only removed it to bathe, but she handed it to Sensei without question now. She had no idea why: she'd refused every request from Ino or Hinata to examine it. But , oddly, she felt she could trust this man.

"It's beautiful." Sensei clicked a tiny latch on its side, and squinted as the small pendant opened.

"The three of you."

"When I was five. We were on vacation somewhere. In the mountains." She'd memorized the scene's miniscule detail: her dad stood on the left of the shot, her mom beside him, a pink-clad, pigtailed child standing in front of them. All squinted into the sun. It was summer, based on the clothes they wore. But the craggy mountain looming behind them was white capped.

"No idea where?"

"I'm sure they mentioned it. I just don't recall. I don't remember much from back then. It's funny, because most children do."

Sensei silently returned the ornately patterned locket to her.

"You'd never sell it, would you?"

"No! Of course not!" Never-- no matter how hungry she was. The locket was her only tangible link to her parents. After their death, everything else was auctioned off to pay for the funeral and to meet their other debts. Sakura was lucky Tsunade had instructed her to hide the gold pendant under her clothes before the appraisers arrived. It would have joined the other auction items otherwise.

"That's good to hear. Some things are priceless. Memories."

"Yeah."

"So. Business."

"Business."

"You think you have the aptitude for it?"

"Why not? I'm smart. I pick things up quickly."

"But you'd be bored. Have you considered this?"

"Why would I be bored?"

"A person like you needs new challenges. You'd master whatever management strategies you learned in school, have a good couple of years implementing them. Hell, I could even see you climbing the ladder fairly fast."

Sakura smiled despite the fact that she felt the boom coming. This was Sensei talking. A compliment must always be paired with something negative. Each yin had its yang.

"But after that? Then what?"

"Once I'm a billionaire, who cares?"

Sensei chuckled. "So that's it! It's not about being secure. It's about being filthy rich. Thanks for clarifying."

"No. Not _really_. I was kidding, I guess. It's just about making sure I don't starve."

It was hardly the most noble motivation, she knew.

"Do you think you could do that kind of job for the next forty years of your life? Running meetings, overseeing sometimes lazy staff, analyzing endless spreadsheets of the same kind of data. Week after week, month after month, year after year."

"When you put it that way..."

He was right. She did become bored easily. This was why school was so horrible. Her teachers plodded along for an entire semester instilling the same facts she'd learned in week one.

"Well, what would you have me do?"

"Me? Who said I have any idea?"

"But you do. I can tell." Her mind worked quickly. "That's what this is about, isn't it? You and Tsunade have been testing me! Trying to see if I'm up to whatever it is she thinks I should do with me life. That woman..." Sakura didn't bother to hide her frustration. It irked her that her de facto guardian had approved-- no, _suggested_-- Sensei's torture of her.

Sakura looked up at the executor of the plot against her. She could tell Sensei was smiling under his wildly patterned bandanna. And the eye half-peeking out under his still wildly disorganized hair had a sparkle to it. But somehow his mirth didn't bother her as much as it should have.

"You are as smart as I figured. Yeah. It's been a test." Sensei stretched before continuing. "Lady Tsunade has been worried about you. Her goals for you are loftier than those you've set."

"How could they be? I'm planning on going to Kodai. That's the best school in the country."

He chuckled again.

"By traditional measures, yes, it's the best."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you could aim higher."

He and Shizune were reading from the same script. Tsunade's script. Sakura's fist's clenched momentarily, but she forced herself to calm down. If nothing else, he had earned a chance to talk without her angry interruptions. Saving her life was worth at least that.

"Towards what?" What could be better than four years at the nations most prestigious university, followed by a job with a top ranked company? That life was every hard-working student's dream.

"How about leading the life you really want? Have you ever thought about that?"

Sakura shook her head. She'd never given any thought to such a frivolous idea. Since her parents' fatal accident her plan had been to find a secure, high paying job. Her happiness had never figured into the scheme.

"When you were little what did you want to be?"

"A meteorologist." Seeing his surprised look, she amended, "You know. The weather girl on T.V."

"You're serious."

"I liked the science aspect of it, and I was a bit of a ham when I was little, so... yeah. But that dream didn't last long. Next I wanted to be an adventurer."

"Hmm?"

"Like Lara Croft."

"An archaeologist?" Sensei's eyes indicated that he was smiling again, probably at the thought of said character's enormous breasts.

"No. To be honest, I've always found that part of her character a little boring."

"So, it's the shoot-em-up part that attracted you? Or the upper crust accent, the mansion... "

"Yeah. The guns... not the money. It's silly, I know, but I like how smart she is, and how she kicks peoples' asses so well."

"How she lives by her wits."

"Yeah." Sakura shrugged. "But basing your future on a video game targeted at adolescent boys isn't very smart. But, now that I think about it, my dad used to tell me adventure stories. Crazy stories about gallant spies, cat burglars and stuff. Kind of like James Bond stories, but minus the chauvinism. So maybe that's where I got it from."

Sensei chuckled. "Then what? What dream came next?"

"Nothing." she blushed. "Maybe I held onto the Lara Croft dream a little too long. Until I was almost sixteen, actually. But after my parents died I saw things the way they really are."

"And how _are_ things, really?"

"Really? Well in reality, people work most of their lives, forty hours a week if the job is trivial, more than that if they want to get ahead. Plus getting ready each day, a long commute, and decompressing afterwards. Life is work. A person really only has the weekends and vacations to enjoy the fruits of his labor."

"So life is work?"

"Yeah. That's why it makes sense to make as much money as possible. So that your limited free time can be anything you want it to be."

"There's an easier way."

"Oh?"

"Get a job you love. Then most of your hours are filled with doing what you enjoy, not waiting for five p.m. Friday."

Sakura laughed raucously. "Tell me you love your job."

"Who says I don't?"

"Your boredom is palpable." Sakura pointed to the book sitting next to Sensei on the bed. "I don't think you'd have your nose in a book all the time if you really enjoyed your work."

"You're wrong. There's something very satisfying in helping a person learn."

"And the pay is _amazing_, right?"

"Money isn't everything."

"Are you sure you grew up poor?"

"You have an amazingly bourgeois attitude."

"No, I have an incredibly realistic attitude."

"Sakura. How about we try a little experiment?"

She looked at her teacher curiously.

"An experiment?"

"I know I've pressed your buttons these past couple of weeks. I've been asking you to do things you have no desire to do. I get it. But what if--"

"What if what?" Her interest was piqued.

"What if you just went along with it for a week or two? Humored me?"

Sakura gazed at the man who'd come running when she'd gone missing from school, a man who'd stayed up for two nights to keep watch over her. Who'd made her chicken soup and sat by her side.

"I could do that," she said softly.

"I won't ask for anything more than that."

"You're just asking me to be a good student."

"More than that. To _want_ to learn."

"Okay."

She could tell her reply had made him smile. His mismatched eyes crinkled over the garish bandanna.

"Shizune wants you in bed for the next two weeks. You'll stay here."

"Why? Can't I recover in my own bed? Surely the door will be replaced in a couple of days."

"You need looking after. God knows you'll starve to death if you stay at your place."

"I'm not completely helpless, you know."

"Far from it. You're the most independent teenager I've met."

"Really?" Sakura smiled.

"Lessons will continue. I'll bring home your school work. I'm sure they'll accept your assignments via email."

"I don't have a computer."

He shook his head in wonder at this technological deficit.

"You'll use mine, then. As for my classes..."

Sakura bit her lip, as she wondered what fresh hell Sensei had in store for her.

"Obviously physics is out of the question."

"I could use the textbook..."

"Nah. We'll do math instead." He thought for a minute. "I know just the thing."

"What?"

"Do you like codes?"

"Like Morse code?"

"More sophisticated."

"Sure. I guess. Doesn't every kid go through that secret writing phase?"

"No, actually. Although I guess you did." Sensei winked amicably at her as he stood and stretched.

He was right. She _had_. In spades.

"Cryptography is a branch of applied math. It's a perfect topic for you to study next, and as I'm kind of designing the curriculum as I go along, it's fair game."

Designing the curriculum as he went along: _that_ figured. But Sakura did not voice this opinion. She opted instead to try on her new role of interested, cooperative student.

"It also happens to be an interest of mine. I've got a couple of books you can start reading tomorrow, if you promise to take it easy."

"Sure thing." She planned on sleeping, mostly, so keeping that promise would be easy.

"Do you need to use the toilet or anything?"

"No." This was a lie, but Sakura had no desire for a bathroom escort. Not in her half-see-through nylon nightgown.

"Well I've leave you, then. I'll be in the living room if you need anything."

Sensei shut the light on his way out, and Sakura wondered about the man tasked with taking care of her.

She'd misjudged him, she realized. He was the person Shizune had described, not the monster Sakura had built up in her head. She wouldn't have trouble going along with his experiment. She'd study cryptography willingly, and whatever else Sensei threw at her in the next two weeks.

Sakura dozed for a bit, and woke up to a bladder screaming for relief.

She crept out of her room and down the darkened hallway leading from the bedroom to bath. She passed that room, however, when she heard Sensei's voice.

He was on the phone again, this time speaking rather loudly, and almost angrily. He was talking in sentences now, not the single word phrases he'd used earlier, and Sakura found it a bit easier to piece together the conversation.

"Yes. Of course I did."

There was the slightest hint of exasperation in Sensei's tone.

"She's got it, alright."

Was he talking about her? She had a feeling that the answer was "Yes."

"Uh, huh. Definitely. A perfect match to the description."

A long pause ensued before Sensei's next response.

"No. No. Of course not. There'll be time for that later."

Then, angrily, "Look, it's my job to protect her, isn't it? I assumed I'd have some discretion in carrying out that duty."

Sensei began to pace the room, and Sakura took this as her cue to retreat.

She shut the bathroom door behind her as quietly as possible, and leaned against it as she rehearsed the conversation.

She's got _what_? Sakura wondered. Pneumonia? Who would want to know this who wasn't aware of it already?

And _what_ was a perfect match?

What was this about duty?

And why on Earth would she need to be protected?


End file.
